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UNITED STATES OF AMERIOA 








































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FIRS T SPI T XOTsT. 10,000. 




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DRAMA 


OF LIFE IN THE— 



®a. 

■if 


3 Acts, 

i-' • 

26 Scenes, 
30 Charac¬ 
ters. 



Illustrated 
with 40 
Engrav¬ 


ings. 


To which is added a brief narrative of the trip, a Historical Sketch of the 
HJIs, and notices of many of the prominent actors in that min.ng 
camp, accompanied by an original poem, entitled 

GOLDEN NUGGETS, 

—B (— 


THOMAS McLEAN NEWSON 



SAINT PAUL. 
Dodge & Larpknteur, 
1878 . 



P * - riP i ■ *■ a H UBF i l i 




Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1878, by Thomas McLean Newton, in the 

office of Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 













































































TIKE BEST E, O XT T E . 


Qungo, Saint Paul ail Mmapdis Line, 

(Chicago & Northwestern and West Wisconsin Railways.) 

IS THE SHORTEST AND BEST ROUTE FROM 

CHICAGO TO SAINT PAUL, MINNEAPOLIS, 

WINNIPEG CITY, (Fort Garry,) 

And all Points in MINNESOTA and the NORTHWEST. 


This line connects at Chicago with the through trains of the Michigan Cen¬ 
tral, Grand i rank, L ike shore, Fort Wayne, and all other Eastern Lines, 
and is the only line between Chicago & St.Paul th it runs the renowned 

PULMAN PALACE SLEEPING CARS. 

All Express Trains on this route are equipped with WESTINGHOUSE PAT¬ 
ENT AIR BRAKES and MILLER'S PATENT SAFETY PLATFORMS AND COU¬ 
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This popular route is unsurpassed for Speed, Comfort and safety. The 
Smooth, Well-Ballasted and perfect track of Steel Rails, the celebrated Pull¬ 
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the Regularity with which they run, the admirable arrangement for running 
through Cars from Chic igo to all points West, North and Northwest, secure 
To passengers all the COMFORTS IN MODERN RAILWAY 'TRAVELING. 

This Line Presents to the Traveler Facilities that are not and cannot be of¬ 
fered by any competitor. 

ALL TICKET AGENTS CAN CELL YOU TICKETS OVER THIS ROUTE, 

* __ 

/ 

If you wish the Best Traveling Accommodations you will buy 
your Tickets by this Route, and will take none other. 

When buying your Railway Tickets at Quebec, Montreal, Toronto, 
Portland, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, or any other point, ask for and 
insist upon having tickets that are good via the Chicago & Northwestern and 
West Wisconsin Railways. These roads pass through the finest hunting, 
shooting and fishing grounds there is in the Western country. 

Our Agents will meet you at the Depots at Chicago, and render 
you any desired assistance, free of charge. 

NEW YORK OFFICE j No. 415 Broadway. A. H, PRIDE, Gni. Eastern 
Agent. 

BOSTON OFFICE : No. 5 State Street. G. L. HARRISON, N. E. Agent. 
MILWAUKEE CITY TICKET OFFICE : 103 Wisconsin St. 

ST. PAUL TICKET OFFICE : Corner Tliird and Jackson Sts. 

CHICAGO TICKET OFFICES : 63 Clark St., under Sherman House. 

Kinzie St. Depot, cor. West Kinzie and Canal Sts. W T ells Street 
Depot, cor. W^ells and Kinzie streets. 

OMAHA '1ICKET OFFICE: 345 Farnham St., cor. 14th. 

SAN FRANCISCO OFFICE : 4 New Montgomery Street. 

F. B. CLARKE, W: H. STENNETT, 

Gen. Pas. Agent West Wis. Ry. Gen. Pas. Agent C. & N. W. Ry. 

ST. PAUL, MINN. CHICAGO, ILL 






D R A M A 



To which is added a brief narrative qf the trip, 
.a Historical Sketch of the Hills, and notices 
of many of the most prominent actors in 
that mining camp, accompanied by 
an original poem, entitled 


GOLDEN NUGGETS, 

-BY- j 

THOMAS McLEAN NEWSON., 


SAINT PAUL: 
Dodgk & Larpentkuk, 
1878 . 















To the Public at Large 

-AND-* 

To my Friends in the Pi ills. 


The object of this book is not so much a history of the Hills as 
n portrayal of rugged life in the mines and a description of odd 
scenes and odd characters, and as these pictures are drawn from 
living realities, they become of peculiar interest to the general 
reader. Society, however, is not all of this type. 1 have met and 
mingled with as good people in the Hills as can be found any¬ 
where in the West, and many who wear rough clothing, are true 
ladies and true gentlemen. My Drama embodies scenes of every 
day occurrences which are truthful to a degree that will challenge 
the criticism of those best informed. Accompanying the Play are 
brief sketches of the HillSj and of the outward trip; also personal 
notices of the more prominent characters who are now either liv¬ 
ing. or who have but recently passed off the stage of life. And 
thus, with a hope that my little work will not only interest but 
instruct the great public, I submit it to their keeping. 

The Author. 





THE BLACK HILLS. 


HISTORICAL SKETCH. 


“ Pah-Sappa *' is the Indian title for the Black Mills. Pah— 
hill, Sappa—black. They derive their name from the immense 
amount of pine which grows upon their.summits, the green foliage 
of which, in the distance, gives them a dark appearance —hem e 
Black Hills. They lie partly in the Territories of Dakota and 
Wyoming, but at one time were a separate reservation belonging 
to the Indians. They rise right out of a vast plain of from 250 to 
300 miles in extent on nearly all sides of them, and in the pros¬ 
pective present a succession of undulating mountains, with here 
and there a high peak projecting, apparently, into the sky. They 
occupy a space of about 100 miles square—then one is lost on 
boundless plains, where, for miles the view is never interrupted, 
even by anything higher tjian a common wild sage bush. For 
many years past,—at least not less than twenty-five,—this section 
of country has been looked upon and talked about, as a mysterious 
region. Tales of unbounded stores of gold have come borne over 
the prairie to the white man’s ears, and intimations and insinua¬ 
tions from the Indians, have only corroborated the story. As far 
hack as 20 years ago, the good and faithful Father DeSmet confi¬ 
dentially assorted that there were mountains of gold in this sec¬ 
tion. and that golden nuggets could be found on the shores of lakes 
even beyond that portion of country which is now known as the 
Black Hills. Half-breeds and Indians carried into Fort Gariy many 
years since, bags of gold dust obtained from this region. Knowledge 
of these facts coming to the ears of the Government, Ouster’s Expe- 


pedition with Prof. Jenney’s investigations followed, and then the 
ever-grasping desire of the American mind for gold, took possession 
of the American people, and Indian ground or no Indian ground, on 
they pressed right into the jaws of the savages, who, claiming they 
had no rights on their soil, brought on a conflict, in which many a 
poor fellow lost his life, and the Goverment became involved in a 
long and expensive Indian war. Gordon and his party were among 
the fi rst to enter the Hills. They were forcibly taken out, and their 
property destroyed by the American Goverment. A commission to 
treat with ihe Indians for the lands followed, at a cost of $50,000; it 
proved unsuccessful. Emigrants continued to make their way into 
t he Hills. Soon it was demonstrated beyond a doubt, that gold exist- 






THE BLACK HILLS. PROFESSORS OF GEOLOGY VIEWING THE FOR¬ 
MATION OF THE COUNTRY. FIRST ENTRY OF UNITED 

STATES TROOPS. 


Oil 


"iie Gold Region is a succession of Mountains as represented in the cut, 
y higher and many more of thorn, 1 have given that class of mountains 
which are usually metalliferous, that is, those that are generally bald, contain 
the best mines of gold and silver. Those thickly covered with pine trees,— 
(and this is the predominant characteristic of the Hills,) have not as yet prov¬ 
ed to be of very great mineral value. The Geologists (with their high top silk 
hats,) are standing upon the peak of one of the highest of these bald hills 
(at least one thousand feet above the plains,) while Gen. Custer and his troops- 
are on the ridge of another Hill on their way down into a valley. 




f 































































































































HISTORICAL SKETCH. 


5 


ed in the streams in paying quantities, and then right in the teeth 
of the most imminent danger ever presented to man, the routes to 
the gold fields swarmed with pilgrims, who had determined to 
fight their way through or die in the attempt. Fabulous stories of 
the existence of gold in the rocks and among the gravel, inflamed 
the public mind, and onward the crowd rushed, pushing aside the 
American soldier, setting at defiance treaty stipulations, snapping 
fingers at Indian threats, enduring unheard of hardships, periling 
lives,-- all for the sake of that strangely, incomprehensible love— 
of GOLD. " 

And thus opened the winter in the Black Hills in 1876—the 
centennial year of the American independence. Government saw 
plainly enough that this great tide of emigration could not be 
stayed without much bloodshed, and so the mass moved on, con¬ 
fronting the wild savage, step by step, well knowing that no pro¬ 
tection and no quarters would be given, for really at this time the 
title to the land was supposed to exist in the Indians, and the 
Government had refused aid to those who might attempt to enter 
the Hills. The Indians took up the war-path. Sitting Bull and 
his adherents swept the plains. Expeditions were attacked, whole 
parties murdered and horribly mutilated; stock stolen; wives made 
widows—children made fatherless. And yet the crowd swept on, 
until, in mid-summer, 1876, the Hills contained a population of 
not less than 6,000 people, all armed, many inured to frontier 
life, with a fixed determination to hold their claims or leave their 
bones bleaching on the sides of the streams. In several noted 
cases the miners were rewarded for their indefatigable efforts, and 
gold began to make its appearance in the East, as’prima facie evi¬ 
dence of an existing fact. The contagion spread. French Greek, 
Spring Creek and Deadwood Gulch gave up their wealth, and then 
gold began to be found in the veins, and capital turned its face 
towards the only star that glittered in the financial sky. It was 
not Black Hills or burst, as it had been in the days of Pike’s 
• Peak, but it was burst first, and then Black Hills afterward. Men 
of the East, many of whom had been unfortunate in business, 
turned their faces towards the only ray of hope that flickered 
across the heavens, and that hope centered in the Black Hills. 

A BRIEF NARRATIVE OF THE TRIP. 

•> 

Fully impressed with the belief, from what I had previously 
heard and knew respecting the metalliferous deposits of Pali-Sappa, 
as the Indians call it, and new and more and well founded infor¬ 
mation coming to hand, I concluded to visit the hills, so bidding 
good bye to the loved ones at home—to friends who thought they 
should never see me again, I embarked on my perilous journey . 


» 


% 



ON THE TRIP. BURIAL OF DEAD INFANT OF EMIGRANTS NEAR 
RED CLOUD AGENCY. FRIENDLY 1ND1 \NS VIEWING THE SCENE. 


Nothing is so sad as the scene represented in the engraving. A wife longs 
for her husband. He is in the Hills : he comes not. !She waits ; hopes ; — 
prays; and still he comes not. She writes, and writes, and writes again—no 
answer is received, and then she resolves; sells off her household goods, and 
disregarding the advice of those of experience, gathers her children about her 
and starts on her journey. The favorite child sickens—calls for papa—no pa¬ 
pa comes. The mother’s heart is big with agony ! Day after day and at the 
camp fire, night after night, she watches; the little one writhes with pain.-- 
It calls again the endearing name of “ papa,” and amid the wildness of nature* 
and the loneliness of the scene, its little spirit passes out into a better world. 
Then friendly hands wrap the blanket about the alabaster form, kindly hearts 
prepare the grave, and amid the lamentations of the mother and the sister, the 
dear little inanimate clay passes out of earthly sight forever. As if to make 
the picture more impressive, Nature’s great rocks and Nature’s untutored yet 
friendly children silently gaze upon the scene. At her journey’s end the fa¬ 
ther no longer hears the patter of little feet; he no longer feels the soft touch 
of little hands; no longer the electric thrill of little lips, but upon his heart 
there is a heavy weight—he might have saved his baby boy ! 
























































HISTORICAL SKETCH. 


n 

i 


On the way startling rumors met my ears. The Indians had at¬ 
tacked the whites in every conceivable manner; several men had 
been killed on the road, and many were hurrying back to the 
St ates. A dreadful fear had seized the people. The horrible atroc¬ 
ities of the Indians; their persistent, usually unexpected and dead¬ 
ly attacks; their unmerciful and savage revenge, had conspired to 
create a stampede, and there were more coming from, than going 
to, the Hills. Besides, apparently well authenticated reports of 
small pox among the miners gave me rather a gloomy idea of that 
far off glittering El Dorado. Still, I came to go to the Hills, and 
I was going. 

'fhe country through which we passed was very desolate, not a 
tree, even the size of a grasshopper was visible, except along the y 
bottoms of some of the streams. Camped at a place called Run¬ 
ning Water. Old pioneers threw down their bedding on the new 
made hay and spoke in glowing terms of their luck. I followed 
suit; while just in the act of crawling into my novel bed, I felt 
something crawling under my hand, and on investigation, found 
it to be a snake. Now I don't like snakes; never did like snakes: 
would much prefer to see Old Nick himself with his pitchfork, 
than that gliding, elongated form and glittering eye, and if forty 
Indians or forty demons had been under my blanket, I couldn't 
have jumped quicker and cleared myself of the neighborhood than 
I did on that eventful night. A little further along we strike the 
Indian trail which crosses to Red Cloud and Spotted Tail Agencies, 
and here and beyond here is where the tiercest attacks have been 
made by the savage foe. We now enter the Red Canon, and 
from this point forward, the Professor, who figures in the Drama 
which follows, will fully describe the scenery along the wajq 
until we enter the Hills. 


DESCRIPTION" OF THE HILLS—THEIR GEOLOGICAL FORMATION". 

As one approaches the Hills from the plains to which I have 
already alluded, they present a succession of mountains rising one 
above the other until the highest, (Hearney's Peak,) seems to 
cleave the clouds, then they drop down lower and lower until the 
plains are reached, and here are what are termed the Foot Hills, 
being really at the foot of high mountains which rise so grandly in 
the centre. Standing on the top of one of these highest peaks, the 
eye rests upon a glowing and lovely scene. A chain of a thousand 
hills stretch out upon the vision, broken occasionally by a valley, 
whmi beyond this nest of mountains, (so to speak) the plains are 
again visible in the distance for miles and miles. Geologically 
considered the Hills present very unique and grotesque char¬ 
acteristics. Entering them from the Cheyenne route, you pass by 
the lime and sand-stone formations lying horizontally, and pene- 


B 


HISTORICAL SKETCH. 


irate the Red Canon, so called by the oxide of iron that has trick* 
eled over the rocks for ages, and given them a red appearance. 
The road is narrow, the mountains are high, and rise on an 
elevation of about 65 degrees. Along the side of these mountains, 
and on their top, are huge trees. As I passed through this gorge 
when the Indians were very dangerous and very troublesome, I had 
no opportunity to examine them with a view to ascertaining their 
mineral wealth, but veins which I saw by the road side as 1 
passed along in the stage, and the prevailing oxyd of iron (really 
the father of gold) lead me to the belief that valuable mineral de¬ 
posits exist in this neighborhood. Emerging from the Red canon 
we rolled out into what is justly termed Pleasant V alley—a broad 
expanse of country guarded by high hills, resembling, very striking¬ 
ly, the lay of land on the north shore of Lake Superior, minus the 
valley. Indians were still about us and we kept to our coach, con¬ 
sequently no explorations were made in this direction. As we ap¬ 
proach Custer the Hills begin to rise in succession, piling, apparent¬ 
ly, heterogeneously one above the other, until the eye is lost amid 
the diversified rise and swell of the rocky cliffs which appear and dis¬ 
appear as we changed our position from one point to another. No 
spot on the American continent is so grand and beautiful as Custer. 
Lying peacefully in a basin, with French creek winding through 
it and the ground gently ascending, reaching even to the apex of 
Hearney’s peak, the scene is lovely beyond description. In front 
-of the city a high mountain rears its head; just outside of the line 
of houses, a bluff surrounds the place in a semi-circle, .and from 
this bluff no grander view ever fell upon the vision of man. Talk 
about scenery in Europe! It is tame in comparison with that 
about Custer. Grazing out from this point, no sight could be more 
enchanting. Here at our feet is the quiet city, so clean and regular. 
Yonder, is an undulating plain, as charming as the graceful fig¬ 
ure and motions of a woman: on our left winds the road;-on our 
right, swelling knolls, hillocks, valleys, and just beyond, grand 
natural avenues, 300 feet wide, on either side of which are uplifts 
of rocks, and on the tops of which are trees. Further on are parks, 
grottoes, rills, vales, streams, valleys, mountains, and every element 
necessary to make a most imposing scene. These avenues are lined by 
trees, and the small road which winds through them beautifully, re¬ 
mind one of the magnificent domains of an English lord, rather 
than nature's handiwork. An artificial park of this character, 
would cost $10,000,000; and yet, there is no apparant mineral wealth 
in and about Custer, and here it lies awaiting some development 
in the march of events to bring it into use and make it one of the 
most charming spots inside of the range of American scenery. 

But the beauty of the country has swallowed up my geological 
ideas, and I find myself rambling in the field among the flowers and 


t 



IK A RAN ('HE. 


TERRIBLE ALARM BA" A REPORT OF 


IKMAKS KEAR. 


HiHMn mWVr °" " ie road t0 •* 

their slumbers at the report of “ Indians nom.” and prcsralTmuch moreT,^ 
dicrous scare than is indicated in the en«r-ivimr Wi. !, mucl \ more lu- 

fc & 

uou- ready tor the tight. The man with the boSts does’nt fully comprehend 
the situation; the chap with his hands in his p icket don’t care tT' mn 

2lTZ “do’nt think there will ^‘^h^f'a 



that man is He one to whom they are looking and in whom they all hive’con 
hdence. It is very brave for one sitting in his parlor at “Tme To tell what he 
WOULD do, ill ease of an Indian attack, but it is another thing to lead a crowd 
of frightened men in case of sucii an emergency. ” J 


/• 


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HISTORICAL SKETCH. 


10 


trees, instead of examining the stratification of the more solid parts of 
God’s magnificent work. Here, just where l stand, the geology 
of the Hills commences. Five or six miles back of Custer, northwest, 
the country is greatly broken by great masses of slate and amyg¬ 
daloid rock. Really, this section of the country looks like other 
mineral lands, and many old miners aver it will yet. prove to be 
the richest part of the Hills. The contour of the country does not 
change until v’ou reach Camp Crook, about 40 miles from Dead- 
wood, when the trappean rock, or, as it is called by seme, green¬ 
stone, usually found on Lake Superior, makes its appearance, and 
with it we have clear evidences of silver and copper. This rock 
goes hand in hand with the argillacious slate, huge masses of 
which appear on every side. At Deadwood there are mountain* 
of limestone, beneath which from four to five hundred feet deep, 
are veins in which I have found gold and silver. In and about 
Deadwood the veins mostly contain copper and some silver, while 
up towards Gaysville and above it, come in the cement beds and 
veins in which gold can clearly be seen; and here, we observe for 
the first time porphyritic rock, with the two classes of slate—tal- 
cose and argillacious. These cement beds were no doubt at some 
period sedimentary deposits from water, for in them we find 
agglutinated porphery, quartz, slate, pebbles, trap, granite and iron 
mixed. Then subsequently a volcanic action (which is clear,) 
threw them up on to the Slate mountains, and flowing over, made 
what are known in the Hills, as the conglomerate mines. The 
Alpha, the Keats, the Aurora, the Hidden Treasure, the Fairview. 
(to a degree) are of this character. The Homestake, the Old Abe, 
the Golden Terry, and the Father De Smet, are all different, being 
veins, with wall rocks, and well defined. Gold is found in all 


these mines. Now, the miner from California looks for gold in 
white rock here, but he don’t find it. The man from Montana 
expects it in rose colored rock, but looks in vain. The explorer from 
Nevada and Utah hunts for a gray rock, but it is non est, and so, 
each and all having very rapidly gone up the hill, very deliberately 
go down again—that is, leave for home, while the tenderfoot, who 
know§ nothing, pockets the red oxide of iron ore, in which there 
is gold ; gobbles the slate in which there is gold ; claims a bald 
headed hill, upon which there is nothing apparantly, but in 
which there is gold; smokes his cigar, elevates his heels, smoothes 
his stomach, and grins over his good luck; sells out for $80,000, and 
sings “ Dad’s a Millionaire." Deformed monstrosities, geologic¬ 
ally speaking, are the peculiar characteristics of the Hills, and 
every day demonstrates that these monstrosities are becoming 
more numerous. They are discarded by the professor, disgusting 
to the old miner, perplexing to the thoughtful man, but a God¬ 
send to the ignorant; so, after nearly six months of study, I have 



I 


HISTORICAL SKETCH. 11 

come to the conclusion that gold is just where nature puts it— 
either in a turnip or in a pancake; in quartz or in slate; in veins 
or in beds; in fact, it is just where you don't expect it, and in 
this respect the Black Hills differ from all other mining countries 
on the face of the globe. 

A MINING CAMP. 

A mining camp is made up of all classes of people, and of all 
nationalities. Generally speaking, they emigrate for one motive 
—gold. Yet there are some who follow the excitement of a min¬ 
ing population not so much for the money to be had, as for the 
pleasure of a feverish life, which they have enjoyed from early 
youth. Stories of hair-breadth escapes and dare-devilism—gam¬ 
bling. robbing, and even killing, are elements in which they revel. 
The boy reads yellow-covered literature, forms an ideal hero, and 
when old enough seeks to reach in reality what he dreamed of in 
boyhood So, equipped with a broad brimmed hat, a leathern 
belt, long hair, slouching clothes and a wild expression, (usually 
affected.) he startles the wild element in which he moves, by some 
daring act that at once elevates him, in their estimation, to a 
proud place on the roll of honor. Then he is a hero, just as he 
used to read about in years gone by. His associates applaud, ad¬ 
mire, praise, and he aspires for a name in history that will rival 
in brightness that of Jack Sheppard or Dick Turpin ! Some, how¬ 
ever, are natural characters, the result of hereditary causes, while 
others are only imitators. The first usually die with their boots 
on, while the others “skip the country,” and live to repeat their 
acts away into old. age. Tn the Drama which follows, I have 
sought to group some thirty of these characters, and as they come 
upon the stage they are presented in a life-like form. This, with 
biographical notices of some of the most noted, a historical sketch 
of the gold region, a narrative of the trip, and a description of the 
country, will enable the reader to form an intelligent and correct 
idea of— Life in the Hills. 



SIR, I TELL VOL' THERE TS HOLT) IN THE HILLS. 


Gold is the grand topic of tlie day; not only in llie mines in the gold region, 
but in the country at large; not only commercially, but politically; not only 
financially, but socially. Gold is King. Silver lias played a subordinate part 
in the past, but is now reaching out on to the plain of equality, and these two 
controlling and dominating elements of the world, will no doubt hereafter travel 1 
together. No wonder the news of large deposits of gold in the Hills creates a 
great interest. Every where it is the theme of conversation, and when it is 
known as a fact, that fifty mills in the Black Hills are turning out from #6,000,- 
000 to $8,000,000 of precious metals per annum, the reader will readily see 
there is force in the expression—“ Sir, I tell you there is gold there, sir; plen¬ 
ty of gold, sir! ” The engraving represents but one of thousands of similar 
scenes throughout the land. 
































































































































































































































































































DRAMA OF 



SCENE i. ACT I. 


Curtain rises, finding eight or ten Irani in a room, smoking and 
warmly discussing the hard times. 

“ Well, Jones, times are hard !" 

“Indeed, they are ! " 

“What will become of the Country if things continue this way 
much longer V ' 

“ 1 don’t know but ”— 

“ By the way, two more banks went over to-day, and the air is 
full of flying fragments from the Insurance Companies ! ” 

“No! has the National Bank failed? I heard that Bodkin & Co. r 
Dry Goods men, had gone under! ” 

“ Smith! what do you think of these times? ’’ 

“Devilish hard. Don't know when we shall reach the end, but it 
not soon nine-tenths of the business men will be bankrupt ! ” 
“Thomas, didn't you tell me that the Shoeman Manufacturing 
Company had bursted? ” 

“That's what I hear to-day.’,' 

“Well, something must be done. We can't stay here. We 
must strike out somewhere, or go with the rest of the people, to 
the poor house.” 

[Enters a gentlemanly young man, who, in a somewhat excited, 
yet theatrical manner, exclaims: ] 

“Gold! Gold! aye, elegant gold!' Beautiful gold! Exquisite 
gold ! Glittering gold; and abundance of it! ” 

“ Where ? How ?' What ?—tell us all about it.” 

[The whole company gather about the man, peering into his 
face, pulling him around gently, and each begging to know where 
this gold can be found. 

“ Gentlemen, poverty is a disgrace. In times like these poverty 








14 


DRAMA OF 


is considered a crime, and he who has no money is, in public 
estimation, a dog.” [All the company respond—“That’s true! 
that’s a fact. "] 

44 To be or not to be— rich —that’s the question. Whether you 
will <lwaddle away your time here or seek to fill your empty pock¬ 
ets with ducats, aye, gentlemen, golden ducats,—that’s another 
question.” 

“ Why, what in the name of Heavens ails the man ! Is he 
crazy ? George, what are you talking about?" 

44 Gold ! grand heaps of gold! Mountains of gold; streams of 
gold !*’ 

“Well, where is it ? Don’t keep us in suspense: in the name of 
God where is it ?” 

“ Aye, there’s the rub. To suffer the slings and arrows of out¬ 
rageous fortune rather than gather glittering gold. To recline at 
ease upon your downy couches, and smoke your cigars rather than 
endure the privations of frontier life. To suffer the pangs of hun¬ 
ger—to want a drink and to go dry—to look seedy—to attempt the 
gentleman on one meal a day—to be a nonentity—(empty in pock¬ 
et and empty in head)—when, with a burst of righteous indigna¬ 
tion you can all accumulate fortunes. Gold buys respectability— 
gold opens doors to churches—gold barters virtue and shields crime. 
Gold is the motive power of the world ! With it come comfort, 
luxury, pleasure ! You have it not, and yet you grasp at it still, 
and still it is within your grasp, and still you pause,—you dare 
not venture.” 

“ Sir, will you do me the favor to stop this infernal harrangue 
and tell us where this gold you speak of, can be found ! We are 
tired of your theories, give us facts.” 

“ Yes, yes, that’s the point; we all want to know where this 
gold you speak of can be found!—give us facts.” 

“You appear impatient, gentlemen. You should remember that 
the love of gold is the root of all'evil, but that gold itself is a tim¬ 
id, harmless commodity.” 

“Oh, nonsense! A sermon on the mountain might do, if you 
only tell us what’s in the mountain; so out with it, let us know 
where comes that glittering gold ! ” 

Shakespeare says—“Our doubts are traitors which make us lose 
the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt,’ and I’m fear¬ 
ful you would make sorry hands in your trip to the Hills.” 

[All the company jump to their feet and exclaim—] “ Just show 
us where this gold can be found, and we will demonstrate our 
ability to go.” 

44 Well, gentlemen, I then point to the Black Hills ! It is 
there where men of energy and pluck go to retrieve heavy losses; 
and there where nature vields up her plentiful harvest of golden 


I 


a; 



“gold! gold! aye ! elegant gold!'" 


•v 




16 


DRAMA OF 


nuggets. Oh ! gold ! how it rings in the ear and tickles along the 
heart ! Oh ! gold ! how it stirs the warm blood of the poor delver 
in life's woes and miseries ! how it arouses ambition—evokes new 
and brighter dreams, cheers, even in anticipation, deadened 
hopes." 

“ Well, you have given us an interesting lecture on gfcld; you 
have also told us where it can be found, but you have not told us 
how to get there." 

“ Very true ! gentlemen. Never having been there, I cannot 
speak from personal knowledge. But, (by the way, who comes 
here?) Why, upon my life, it is the Professor himself! (Enters 
Professor.) 

“Ah! Professor, how do you do ? (Shake hands.) Allow me 
to introduce you to several friends of mine who want to go to the 
Black Hills, and you would do them and myself a favor if you 
would tell them how to get there.” 

“ Well gentlemen, I am glad to meet you, and shall be pleased 
to briefly describe the routes to the Hills, but you must bear in 
mind this fact, the trip is a perilous one, beset with wild and 
revengeful Indians, hut if you go, expect to meet many hard¬ 
ships.” 

[Enters a dappy little fellow—well dressed—gold sleeve buttons 
—gold studs—gold pin—white shirt—silk hat—polished boots— 
.rattan cane—patent scoop, and in a bland manner, says:— 

“ Good evening, sir. ” 

C7 7 

“ Good evening." 

“ Going to the Hills ? ” 

• 4 y gs sir. , ' 

“ Been to the Hills ? " 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Ah ! I go in the same train." 

'“ Indeed 1 ” 

“ 1 have a clean outfit sir,—show you in the morning." 

(And he leaves the company abruptly. As he moves off the 
stage, there enters a tall, somewhat rough looking man, who 
scans every face, when lie quietly asks;—) 

“ Can I make one of your company, gentlemen ? ” 

“ Certainly, we are just looking for a chap like you. (Re-enters 
the Tender Foot with patent scoop in hand.) 

“ You said, I think, young man, you were going to the Hills— 
ever been there ? ’ ’ 

“No, sir; but there is gold there, sir!—plenty of gold, sir ! 
Gold in the streams, sir, gold in the rock, sir, gold on the top of 
the rock, sir, gold in the grass, gold, in fact, in the streets, sir.” 

“ Aint you mistaken, my friend? " 

“No, sir: I have my information from a source entitled to the 



f 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


•a 



i t 


A PATENT SCOOP, SIB. 






















18 


DRAMA OF 


highest credit. $3,000,000 have already been taken out of French 
( 'reek ! $5,000,000 out of Deadwood Gulch ! Abundance of gold , 

sir ! in the Black Hills. I speak from positive knowledge." 

(One of the company says:) “ Say, boys, let's be off. Give us a 
leader, and 1, for one, am for the Hills; yes, by thunder, 1 will 
start to-night." 

“ What have you there ? " 

41 A patent scoop ! " 

“ A patent scoop for what ? " 

“ Gold, sir ! taking up the gold, sir ! " 

Then you expect to scoop it up, do you ? " 

“ Yes, sir, of course, sir ! " 

(The small man hurries around among the company, talking to 
one and another, while the Prof, gazes upon him with astonish¬ 
ment. After the mail leaves the stage the Professor says:—“ In 
the common parlance of Miners' slang, that man is called a Ten¬ 
der Foot—a pilgrim—an appellation applied to one who thinks he 
knows it all, but in reality who knows nothing—an inexperienced 
gentleman, who draws largely on his imagination for facts, instead 
of learning what lie does know, from hard knocks in the rough 
and tumble of life." 

“Tell us, Professor, about the route to the Hills." 

“ Yes, tell us; we are getting impatient.’* 

“ Well, gentlemen, after leaving the States, one is outside the 
line of railroad communication—fairly at sea on the great ocean 
of doubt—not knowing whether he will land at the golden fields 
at the end of his contemplated journey, or reach the shores of eter¬ 
nity on the other side of life. The country through which we 
pass, is desolate. Mountain ranges appear on either side of us, 
while the limestone formations grow heavier and stronger as we 
proceed. Peeping out modestly from the dry grass, we observed 
a bunch or two of purple violets, so silent, so lonely in their prai¬ 
rie homes. Here is Chug-water, which derives its name from an 
Indian tradition, that, once upon a time the red men corailed a 
large herd of Buffalo at this place, and drove them over the ledge 
of rocks standing high up on the road side, and down they went— 
chug ! and as the stream is near by, it is called Chug-Water. The 
Buffalos broke their necks and a grand pow-wow followed ! Here, 
too, are many prairie dogs. These animals resemble puppies one 
month old, and have a shrill, sharp bark as they stand in the ap¬ 
ertures of their houses and give signals of warning to the inmates 
therein. The ladies would call them ‘dear little creatures. ’ ” 

(The Tender Foot steps forward towards the Professor and says:) 
“ Professor ! just a minute—please excuse me, but are these an¬ 
imals you speak of, real live dogs? And don’t you think I could 
catch one with my scoop, if I had a longer handle ? ’' 


i 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


19 



“THE TRIP is A LONG AND PERILOUS ONE !’* 
















DRAMA OP 


20 

(The Professor smiles—pauses. The large, rough man mingles 
iu the group as though anxious to discover some one. One or 
two of the company request the Tender Foot to keep still, and he 
finally subsides. The Professor continues:) “At this point 
hugh masses of white sand stone rise, apparently, out of the 
ground, and present grand and imposing scenes. In the distance 
they resemble farm houses with barns near by, and one is greatly 
surprised on approaching them, to find that they are only sand. 
Eagle’s Nest is a marked peculiarity of this formation. Nature 
has carved out a complete fortification, on the top of which is an 
Eagle’s nest, and over the hugh, ponderous doors a well defined 
lion lies peacefully gazing upon the scene. The deception is so 
great, that many aver it is the work of man, and not the frolics ot 
nature which have produced these well defined images and archi¬ 
tectural beauties. But wdiat is the use, gentlemen, of my giving 
you a lecture on the subject, when you expect to go there your¬ 
selves, and my advice is—get ready.’* 

“Yes, that’s it—let's get ready,’’ and the company leave the 
stage in confusion, rhe Tender Foot dancing around with his pat¬ 
ent scoop, and the Professor and George going out together -the 
mysterious man peering again into the faces of the crowd, and is 
the last to leave. 


SCENE II. ACT I. 

(A Jew’s shop. Guns, pistols, and fire arms generally hang on 
.his rack. Picks, shovels, and mining implements are pi\>miucnt. 
Over his shop is a sign,“ Sample Room.” Just under this—“Free 
Lunch, 25 Cents,” and in front—“Second Hand Store.” Enters 
German, and Jew bustles around to wait upon him. 

Jew. “ I'se sell slieap, verv sheap ! You go to Black Hills, 
eh? Ah! I see you want pistol—one elegant pistol! I have him. ” 
tAnd the Jew produces a small weapon, handles it quickly, remark¬ 
ing—“ That be excellent pistol.” (The German looks at it, but 
does not like it.) “You want to kill Indian—it be grand for 
lot. ” (German takes the pistol.) Jew continues—“ See ! Indian 
-ome up to you! You kill him!” (German hands the pistol 
back very quickly, with a grunt, and hurries to another part of 
the room. He finally examines an old rusty flint lock and asks : 

“ Vot for you takes for dot big-leetle gun ?” 

“Ah! dot is sheap, very sheap! He carry two miles! I sell 
him you for $10.*’ (Jew takes up the gun and brings it to a level, 
when the German dodges about the room, exclaiming— 

i Mein Got! Mein Got! you no shoot me ! Mein frow und 



LIFE IN THE 15LACK HILLS. 






“J\SK GW INK TO I)E HILLS!* 











' 2'2 


DRAMA OF 


shildren be dead, if I be shooted." (Jew laughs immoderately, puts 
down the gun and assures the German—“I no shoot! I sell you 
one big gun sheap, very sheap ! ” (German examines further and 
finally buys an ordinary pistol, and while examining the various 
articles, in pops a negro:— 

“ I say, Massa ! has you any ting what for to cook in ? '* 

“ Veil, vot you want? ” 

“ Golly, Massa, I done ax you.'* 

“ Veil, you be damned nigger, not to know vot you want,*' but 
I lias him, T'se sells him to you sheap, very sheap." 

“Yah! yah! yah! Ise gwine to de Black Hills wid Massa 
Jones, and 1 done want somethin for sure.” 

“ Veil, I has him, you buys him sheap, very sheap ! " (Negro 
selects a frying pan, cup and coffee pot. Jew jumps around en¬ 
thusiastically, and is exceedingly polite in his attentions, while he 
is constantly assuring the negro that he “sells sheap, very sheap !" 
Enters the rough looking man who appeared in the first act. He 
looks around mysteriously, and then wants to see some pistols. 

“ Will you let me look at some of your pistols ? *’ 

“Them be very nice pistols. T sells them just so very sheap." 
The rough man buys the pistols, puts them on his person, and 
again looking round, walks out. 

“Veil, now ! I likes them Black Hills. By jimminy, let me 
see—1 make to-day, clear profit—$50. Veil, veil—dot vill do. 
Yes, yes; that will do,” and rubbing his hands, he closes the shut¬ 
ters and the curtain falls. 


SCENE III. ACT I. 

(Inside of a parlor. Woman sitting at a table sewing. Child 
engaged playing. Enters George, the husband of the woman, who 
rises and comes to him as he enters. Puts her hand upon his 
shoulder and says: 

“ Why, dear George ! what has made you so late to-night ? " 

“ Dear Mary ! You know times are hard—some of our best 
men have failed, and I have been thinking”— 

“ But, George, whatever else you do, don't go from home ! " 

“ Well, Mary, what can I do? Trade is dull—money is scarce 
—times are hard. I have struggled to keep out of debt, and you 
know we both have economized, and what of the future ? What 
about you and the child ? ” 

. Child. “ Oh, papa ! you won't go away and leave mamma and 
me—will you ? Oh, dear papa ! mamma will cry, and I will cry, if 



JJFK IN THE BLACK HILLS 


'2 


o 
• > 


/■ 



I SELLS SHEAF, VERY SHEAP. 













DRAMA OF 


24 


you go away ! Don't, papa, leave your little pussey, for she will 
he so lonely.” 

(The father takes the child in his arms and kisses it. The wife 
leans on his bosom, and for a moment there is silence.) 

“Mary, it is my love for you and the little one which induces 
me to think of leaving home, of enduring frontier life, loss of 
home comforts, wandering in a distant land, peril a] s”— 

“No, George ! you must not go. We can get along here. What 
is gold but trouble ? True, money is necessary in this world for 
life’s comforts, but that is not all of life. To love, to be loved. 
The home—its dear associations. The golden link which binds 
two hearts. (Puts her hand upon the head of the child.) These 
are more precious than gold. Oh ! George, whatever decision you 
make, do assure me you will not go from home." 

“ Mary ! my dear Mary ! however much 1 love you* however 
dear home is, whatever affection I may have for my child, yet I 
must rise above these feelings, for it is my duty to provide for you 
both. There is nothing doing here; I may realize a fortune there. 
And then, my dear wife, (kisses her,) then, what joy will come 
when I return from the Hills laden with golden treasures. No 
more fretting, no more care, no more seething and surging of the 
brain ; we will enjoy each other's society and float down the 
stream of Time into the ocean of Eternity—still loving—still true 
—still happy.” (George leans towards his wife. Mary lifts her 
head and says : 

“ Well, George ! if that is your decision, however hard it may 
be for me to endure the parting—go ! A wife's duty should be to 
help, not to discourage the husband in his battle w r ith the stern 
realities of life, and while my heart breaks, 1 can only acquiesce 
in your decision, knowing that it is the offspring of pure love. But, 
oh, George, if you should never come back ; if disaster should over¬ 
take you, if sickness—if death should come, great God ! how 
could 1 endure the blow!” (George puts down the child and 
clasps his wife to his bosom, and both weep. The scene changes. 
Mary takes her seat, George takes the child upon his knee and 
concludes:)— 

“ Well, Mary, let us hope that vour fears w ill never be realized. 
Let us trust to a higher power, and with strong hearts and stern 
arms, seek rather to remove the obstacles in life, than pine over 
our misfortunes. Every dark cloud has its silver lining, and why 
not ours ? ” 

“My dear husband ! God shield you ! God bless you ! God 
protect you in your perilous trip ! ” 

Child. “ But papa will come again, mamma ! He will conn' 
to-morrow—won't you papa ? 1 don't want my papa to go away." 

(And the child climbs into his lap, puts her arms around his neck 
and kisses him.) 




LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


25 

“ Well, my darlings, let us bid good bye to sad forebodings. 
Perhaps I shall not go, but in the morning we shall all feel bright¬ 
er and happier, and then ’ ’— 

Child. “ Papa ! let me kiss you good night ! ” (Father bends 
down, kisses child, takes it in his arms, and with wife leaning on 
his shoulder, leaves the stage.) 


SCENE IV. ACT I. 

(Gathering of the company with picks, shovels, guns, pistols, 
blankets, at the first camp, just outside of town. Time: 7 o’clock 
in the morning. Two or three men are upon the stage when the 
curtain rises. Several drop in until the company are all present, 
among them the Tender Foot, the strange man,, the German, the 
Negro, (Cook to the Tender Foot,) George, the Professor and 
others.) 

German. “Veil, by jimminv, I’m here. I’se ready.” (rubbing 
his eyes.) Unburdens himself of a tremendous load of traps. 
Enters Tender Foot, followed by the Negro. Tender Foot rushes 
about the stage, informing the company he has a clean outfit ; 
white towels, jellies, pillow cases, silver knives, napkins, china 
plates, &c. The negro is loaded with blankets, guns, bowie 
knives, pistols, coffee pot, cups, and every conceivable article nec¬ 
essary for the comfort of the Tender Foot. 

Negro. “ By golly, gemmen ! Jordon’s a hard road to trabel! 
Massa Jones done thinks Pse a mule, and Fse loaded down just 
wose dan a double-decker Mississippi steamboat. Here, you 
Dutchman ! just come over here and help this ’ere nig ! ” 

“ Yot der deivel you takes me to be? eh? I’m a shentleman ! 
I’se no cook—no nigger ! I’se a shentleman ! ” (German be¬ 
comes quite indignant.) 

(Negro is helped to unload by the Tender Foot, who, in his 
anxiety to relieve him of his burden, pitches the darkey on to the 
floor, bringing out a general laugh from those present. And just 
here enters the strange man, well provided with fire arms, reticent, 
carefully scanning each one's face, followed by George, the Pro¬ 
fessor and others, until the company are all on the stage, each 
one laying down his package. The Professor says: 

“ Well, gentlemen, we are about to part with our friends, per¬ 
haps forever ! and in view of that fact, allow me to offer this 
toast—‘God bless and preserve the dear ones left behind.’ ” The 
German, Negro and Tender Foot scamper about the camp in 



26 


DRAMA OF 


search of cups, out of which to drink. The toast is drank, when 
a song is proposed, and all who can, join in singing— 

“Good Bye, Old Home ! ” 

After the singing, a man appears upon the stage who is the 
leading teamster, and says : 

“ Gentlemen ! it will be necessary to load and get off at once, or 
we shall not make camp until late in the night.’’ (Friends pres¬ 
ent shake hands, good bye ! Each one picks up his baggage and 
carries it off the stage. One bundle is left, and presently in rushes 
the German, most out of breath—) 

“ By jimminy, mein planket vas left behind, already ! By jim- 
miny ! ” (Picks up the bundle and rushes out.) 


SCENE V. ACT I. 


(In camp on the road. Camp fire. Man frying ham, other 
men bringing wood and water , others smoking pipes. German 
terribly afraid of Indians; keeps close to a fellow passenger. Ne¬ 
gro also afraid. Strange man peering out often into the darkness. 
A tent is on the stage for the use of the Tender Foot. After sup¬ 
per, which must be real, but short, the negro sings and jilays the 
banjo. German also sings, after which the whole company join in 

“Do They Miss Me at Home?” 
when the herder makes his appearance, in a terrible fright, and 
screams—“ Indians ! Indians ! Indians ! “ Every man is on 
his feet in a moment. Firing of guns is heard from the Indians, 
Avhen the Tender Foot, the German and the Negro make for the 
tent. The strange man steps to the front in the hottest of the 
tight and seems the animating genius of the group. A shot into 
the tent drives the parties out of it, the German crying “Mein 
Got ! Mein Got! ” while he crawls into a blanket, leaving most of 
his body exposed. The Negro capers about the stage in a terribly 
frightened manner, the Tender Foot tires his pistol into the air 
and hides behind a stump, while George, the Professor and others 
are busily engaged throwing up rifle pits, &c. In the meantime 
there is a terrific fire from the Indians. The German runs around 
with his head covered with a blanket; the Negro turns summer¬ 
saults in the air; rapid firing is heard on both sides for several 
minutes, when one of the company falls. The strange man runs, 
picks him up and places him in a secure place, and then resumes 
the fight. The strange man is on his feet, while others are behind 
defenses. The ground is hotly contested for fifteen minutes from 



LIFE IN TIIE BLACK HILLS. 







































28 


DRAMA OF 


the commencement of the fight, when the German recovers his 
composure and says: 

“What for I be coward ! 1 fights mit Siegel. My grandfather 

he fights with Fritz. I be no afraid of Frenchman, 1 shoot the 
damned Indian,” and drawing his gun to his shoulder, fires, when 
an Indian drops. The herder runs into camp, bare-headed, no 
coat, no shoes, and exclaims : 

“Indians are going ! ” 

The German comes forward and says : 

“Oh ! mein got! this was the first Indian I ever did kill,” and 
dodges about as though he expected to be shot any minute. The 
Negro constantly dodges as though a ball was coming, and while 
chattering with his teeth, roars out : 

“Massa ! Tse gwine home! Don't like this business ! ’Spec 
Indians will kill this nigger ! Oh! my God!” and he dodges behind 
the Tender Foot, who has come forward and is wiping his mouth 
with a white pocket handkerchief. Strange man walks among the 
the crowd, silent and grand. The Professor speaks : 

“Gentlemen ! you have done w ell! We are not yet out of danger. 
The foe, even while I speak, may be upon us. (The German and 
Negro both groan and dodge,) and it needs us to be still watchful. ■ 
One of our comrades has fallen, and all and the best we can do is, 
to bury him here and send messages to his friends. All must 
watch until the gray of morning, and, with prudence, we may 
avoid another attack.” 

(The herder, who is now dressed, informs the company to get 
ready and to move out silently without breakfast, as a fire might 
attract the enemy. The company pick up everything, and as 
they leave the stage, the curtain falls. 


SCENE VI. ACT 1. 

Curtain rises slowly and a lone grave is seen on the stage. Cur¬ 
tain descends slowly, while the orchestra play a dirge. 


SCENE VII. ACT I. 

(Four men, with guns, are seen slowly coming down the Red 
Canyon. On either side of the road are new made graves. The 
men pause in the middle of the stage, when the Professor says : 




I.IFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 



LONE GRAVE 






























30 


DRAMA OF 


“Well, George, this is the Red Canyon. Let me describe my 
first trip. Then, as now, we entered the Red Canyon with fear 
and trembling. Down its narrow gorge we passed, high bluffs 
lining our way. Beautiful was the scenery. Up! up! high 
up reared the heads of the Mountains on either side of which and 
all along their steep uplifts, coned-shaped trees were piled, one 
above the other, until their tops were capped with huge monarchs 
of the forest, shutting out the sun, and leaving us virtually in the 
valley of death. Any moment the crack of a rifle might announce 
the presence of the enemy; any minute death might overtake one 
or all of us. Along the way we noticed new-made graves. And 
so cautiously and fearfully we passed on, then as now, trusting 
only to our needle guns, while on every side of us were pits, em¬ 
bankments and fortifications thrown up to protect the way-farer 
from the sudden attacks of his inveterate enemy—the savage of 
the plains ! The Indian gives no warning. He lies in ambush. 
He watches. A sudden pop, followed by the war-whoop, and he 
is upon you. He gloats over his victim. While still alive he tears 
the reeking scalp from the white man’s brain, and then, to gratify 
his terrible revenge, hackles, mangles, mutilates the still bleeding 
victim of his malice.” 

(Almost instantly after the Professor’s last words, the strange 
man, who is among the crowd, drops upon his knee and fires; the 
balance of the company step back. A wild war-whoop and a rifle 
shot are heard, and in rushes an Indian in war paint with rifle 
and uplifted knife, the blood oozing from his breast, and falls dead 
upon the stage. The men look on silently, leaning upon their 
guns—not a word being said—when the curtain falls. (End Act!.) 

















LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


31 



Look at the engraving. A young, delicate female, shielded by the brawny 
arms of a frontiersman. How earnestly she gazes into his eye's ! Together 
they have penetrated the dark recesses of the woods to escape the horrible 
trocities of the savages. Her family have all been killed by the Red men; she. 
herself, has been rescued from a fate even worse than death itself; and now 
with fear she clings to the noble hunter, who is determined to save her life, 
even at the sacrifice of his own. His faithful dog looks up piteously in his 
face; the sky frowns ; the wind blows ; the skulking Indian is upon the war¬ 
path, and any minute ma} r be upon them; he has at last tracked them and 
pants for their blood—but, the savage foe is battled. Amid the rocks the dar¬ 
ing hunter darts with the fleetness of a deer, and oh ! how close his frail com¬ 
panion clings to his strong arms. He eludes his pursuers, and after weary 
miles of travel, he places the delicate girl into the hands of her friends. It is 
the old story, which has been repeated a thousand times for a hundred }'ears 
past. A worthy, industrious man, with a large family, goes on to the fron¬ 
tier, opens up a farm, harbors the savage at his hospitable table, when, with¬ 
out warning, the Indians treacherously fall upon their victims and murder 
all but the beautiful female, who, through the instrumentality of a bold and 
intrepid stranger, is restored to civilization, a mourner and an orphan ! Thy 
great American Government lifts up its little finger, and gently puts it down 
again! The same savage is immediately better fed, and better clothed, and 
better armed, so that he may the better be able to repeat his acts upon other 
inoffending, industrious, innocent, American citizens ! The dead are un¬ 
avenged—the murderers are encouraged in their brutality !—the Government 
acts the part of an imbecile, at least in its treatment of the Indians on our 
frontier, and thus it has been, and thus it probably will be, for many years to 
come! 

An Indian in war paint, with tomahawk and scalping knife, is as much an 
object of fear to-day as he was one hundred years ago. and, in some respects 


v 







32 


DRAMA OF 


more so, as in modern times he has added to his numerous other terrible 
weapons of death and cruelty, the most approved army gun ; in fact, I may 
nay, the best in the c luntry. With this and his many peculiar instruments of 
destruction, he is even more ferocious, more brutal, more revengeful, more 
vindictive, more fiendish than when he occupied the land now embraced by 
Mew York, Massachusetts,Connecticut, and all the Western States, not except¬ 
ing Minnesota. For just one whole ceptury the Government has been seek¬ 
ing to devise some means whereby peace could be established and maintained 
between the whites and the savages, and yet at this present writing, in the 
year 1878 , there is every reason to believe that we shall have a more bloody 
Indian war than was ever known before in the history of this country. While 
the Indian has progressed in the use of modern arms and even brutality, the 
Government has made no advancement whatever in the solution of the great 
question—“ what shall be done with him ? ” but is even more perplexed and 
more vacillating than at any other period in its existence. Hitting Bull and 
his band have been public murderers and robbers for years, even before any 
question arose as to the existence of gold in the Black Hills, and yet the 
Government, with this knowledge in its keeping, is still striving to negotiate 
with the old renegade, instead of marching in force upon him, and either an¬ 
nihilating both him and his command, or securing and keeping them as pris¬ 
oners of war. The removal of the agency Indians, who have been well fed 
and well cared for by the Government, has only added to the warriors of the 
successful old Chieftain, who spurns overtures from the Government, and 
who has to-day men enough, and provisions enough, and ammunition enough 
to hold at bay the present army in the field for years to come. 

The horrible atrocities of killing, mutilating and even roasting alive inno¬ 
cent men, women and children, will again be re-enacted, and then, after sev¬ 
eral millions have been expended in useless attempts to subdue these poor, 
forlorn, wards of the Government, they will be politely invited to make a 
treaty—to lay down their old arms for new and better ones, and to partake of 
—a good, square meal!—of course at the expense of the people. This Indian 
business, on the part of the Government, is all a farce. There is too much 
red tape and nonsense about it to ever be effectual. What is needed, is a con¬ 
centration of power into the hands of one man, with the whole force of the 
Government back of him, and then let this man not only have the aut hority to 
subdue the Indians, but kick out of office, orpunish otherwise, every agent 
or Indian employee who is found stealing, or who is caught in any act derog¬ 
atory to the welfare of the Government or prejudicial to the interests of the 
Indian who lives in good faith under the rules and regulations as laid down by 
the powers that be. Concentrate the Indians and give them a territorial ex¬ 
istence ; surround them with a military power, until at least they are subdued 
to civilization ; give them officers from among iheir own race, just like the 
whites, and let them know they are citizens of the United States and will be 
held amenable to the laws of the United States ; and when this is done we 
shall have no more Indian wars, and shall have no further occasion to illus¬ 
trate our book with even such mild engravings of Indian atrocities, as pre¬ 
cedes the present article. 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


33 


SCENE VIII. ACT I. 


[Public house at Custer. A number of persons gathered about 
the bar : prominent among them, is a nicely dressed young man, 
about 20 years of age, with small cane, cigar in his mouth, leaning 
his elbow on the counter. Men gather about him, when he turns 
around suddenly and exclaims: “set’em up, ” and drinks off his 
whisky with the utmost sang-froid. Six or seven persons are sit¬ 
ting in the room, not connected with the bar, and among them, is 
the Professor, who gazes with much attention on the scene. The 
young man says : “boys, let's go," and leading his way out, they 
all follow. The Professor remarks to a gentleman near him : “It 
is a pity that a man so young and promising should keep such com¬ 
pany as must, ultimately, lead him to ruin;’’ 

(The gentleman addressed looks quizzically at the Professor, a 
smile plays upon his features and he replies :) 

“1 guess you are a little green—a tender foot. That young man 
is Calamity Jane." 


(The Professor looks wonderfully astonished, the other persons 
in the room smile, when the gentleman addressed remarks : 

“Dressing in male attire for years, Calamity Jane has acted the 
scout in Gen. Crook’s army, has scaled the mountains, fought 
Indians, rode horse-back, a la male ; has drank whisky, panned 
out gold, and, changing her clothing, has acted the woman in the 
dance, around the social board, and even at the bed of death." 

Well, well," says the Professor, “ I bid you good night,” and 
leaves the room. The bar keeper hustles about shuttering up, 
when the company depart and the scene shifts, displaying a small 
saloon with a bar. At a table with three men, is Calamity Jane, 
playing cards, wlyle at the same time she is smoking. She is 
dressed in the garments of a woman and calls out—“Here, 
Joe, set 'em up ! Give me wine,” and she utters a hoarse laugh, 
throwing down her cards. The men smile, treat her courteous¬ 
ly, when^the bar-keeper brings the drinks. Jane quaffs her wine, 
when soon the men begin to beat her in the game. Her eyes 
flash, she throws down her cards, pushes back the table and 
pounds her fists on the bar. Finally pulls her bonnet over her 
face and is about to leave, when the men persuade her to come 
back and try again. She takes her seat at the table—the playing- 
goes on, when up she jumps, throws down her cards and laughs 



34 


DRAMA OF 







♦ 


CALAMITY IN MALE ATTIRE. 

























LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


35 


with delight over her success—she has beaten them all in the game. 
I akes a drink and says;—‘'Well, boys I’m a going,” and leaves 
the room. Bar-keeper says;—“that’s a great girl—it is late and 
I am going to shut up. ” The men leave and bar-keeper closes. 


SCENE II. ACT II. 


(A street scene. Loud talking is heard between a man and a 
woman, and as they come upon the stage the man draws a pistol, 
pointing it at the breast of the woman, and exclaims—“You 
miserable old buckskin, I have a good mind to shoot you !” Cal¬ 
amity looks at him a moment, then straightens herseif up, snatch¬ 
es off her bonnet, throws it upon the ground, takes off her sack, 
throws that upon the ground, and replies: “I’m but a woman! 
[ don’t fear you ! shoot! you dirty dog!” 

(While standing in this position, the man undecided what to do, 
in enters the Marshall, who seizes the arm of the man. Jane picks 
up her bonnet and her shawl. The man puts the pistol in his side 
pocket and begins moving off, when Jane seizes it and has it 
pointing at his head.) 

“Now, you puppy ! I could blow your brains out, if you had 
any.” 

(The man backs out, Jane after him, with the pistol at his head, 
when the Marshall seizes her, wrests the pistol from her and con¬ 
veys her to jail, with a small crowd followiug.) 


SCENE III. ACT II. 

(A building somewhat deep, with two rooms. First room 
occupied by a bar, inner room adapted to a dance. Men drinking 
at bar ; and others coming in. Four girls can be seen in the inner 
room, darting about, and among them, Calamity Jane, dressed in 
a plain black silk dress—comely figure. A small, dappy fellow, 
dressed in brown velvet, appears in the front room among the 
men, and exclaims loudly:—“Gentlemen will please prepare for 
the dance.” One and another take a girl and assume their places 
upon the floor, while the music strikes up a lively tune. Calamity 
comes to the bar with a rough looking man and says: “Give me a 
cigar.”—Lights it and walks off; smokes a moment, and then 
throws it away. The man in velvet calls off in a loud and drawl¬ 
ing manner, and tlie dance sets in. Two of the girls are drunk 
l 




*0 


DRAMA OF 



\ 




CALAMITY IN' FEMALE ATTIRK. 


i 







LIFE IIS THE BLACK HILLS. 


o rr 

Si 


and stagger ; the third one is noisy. Calamity is quiet, with an 
occasional remark ; dances modestly, and at the conclusion of the 
dance all parties repair to the bar. The three girls drink whisky 
with the men ; Calamity takes wine. The second sett commences, 
when a noisy fellow, half drunk, “is spoiling for a fight,” walks 
up and down among the men, exclaiming—“ I can whip any one 
in the crowd.” Just then enters the strange man. ' He peers in 
upon the scene, walks quietly among the people, and stands beside 
the Professor, who came in just before him. The rowdy jostles 
against the strange man, when he simply says—“Sir, I wish you 
would be a little more careful,” to which the reply is made: “you 
are a dirty old snide,” and instantly the rough man knocks him 
down, the man falling close to the Professor, who - with others, now 
run out of the door. The men grapple. Six of them finally hold 
the bulty in one corner, while the girls crawl out of the windows. 
Both parties call loudly for pistols. The strange man holds the 
bully with the grip of a lion, when he finally quiets down—all 
parties become reconciled—shake hands—appear at the bar, and— 
drink ; after which the Stage is vacated and the scene shifts, dis¬ 
playing a small room, the Recorder's office. Recorder present, 
busy with liis papers. Enters Calamity and takes a chair. 

“Good morning, Calamity,” says the Recorder. 

“ Good morning, Charlie.” 

(Enters the Professor, who says:) 

“And this is Calamity Jane ! ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Calamity, have you any objections to my asking you some 
questions about yourself ? ” 

“No sir.” 

“ Why, then, are you called Calamity Jane ? ” 

“Because of the calamity of my birth—I ought never to have 
been born. It is not my real name. I was born in the army after 
my father's death. Never went to school; can neither read nor 
write. My mother was a laundress in the army; my father was a 
soldier. Hdve brothers and sisters.” 

“ How old are you ? ” 

“21 years.” 

“ How long have you led this rough mode of life ? *’ 

“ Ever since I was a baby. Born among the soldiers, I have 
been with them all 1113 ^ life. I 11 fact, I'm a bold soldier bo) r .” 
(And she paces up and down the stage, eyes flashing, with all the 
egotism of a second lieutenant.) 

“ Jane, ain’t you tired of this way of living? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Don’t you sometimes feel that \ r ou would like to get back into 
the past, when 3 r ou were an innocent, guiless, thoughtless child ? ’ 


DRAMA OF 


as 

(There is no reply. The Professor, after waiting a moment, turns 
and finds tears trickling down her cheeks. He had touched a cord 
in the wayward girl’s heart, and the response came in tears. The 
Professor gazes a moment, then says:) 

“Good bye, Jane.” 

The Recorder has already left. -Calamity is seen on the stage 
with her face in her hands, crying, when the curtain falls. 

SCENE IV. ACT II. 

(Curtain rises, when Calamity Jane and her husband come on to 
the stage, she skipping along as happily as any young girl could 
do, holding on to his arm. 

Husband. “Well, Jane, to-morrow morning we start for our 
ranche, where I have cattle, cows, horses, and everything neces¬ 
sary to make us comfortable.” 

Jane. “Well, God knows I’m glad. But, I don’t like the 
idea of giving up all my old friends, but I’ll do it, of course I’ll do 
it, if I say so. Say ! Jim, what will you do if there comes an¬ 
other Indian war, and Crooks wants me to go as scout ? ” 

“Why, of course, you must go,—that’s all. Come along; let’s 
be off.” 

(And taking his arm, she skips over the stage, singing, and 
they both disappear.) 

On the opposite page we give a life-like portrait of the original 
Calamity Jane, taken from a photograph brought from the Hills. 

H. N. Maguire, Esq., a gentleman I met in the Hiljs in 1877, and 
a very fine writer on American Wonderland, thus alludes to his 
first introduction to our female hero: 

“ I asked my old Yellowstone friend, Jack Baronett— 

“How far is it to Deadwood, Jack?” 

“Only a mile and a half; that girl on horseback is going there 
now.” 

“Girl! what girl? I don’t see anybody on a horse, but that 
dare-devil boy yonder.” 

“Why, that’s a girl on that bucking cayuse; that’s Calamity.” 

“ AndCalamity Jane” she was, as I ascertained in getting 
some items in regard to her most remarkable career. There was 
nothing in her attire to distinguish her sex, as she sat astride the 
fiery horse she was managing with a cruel Spanish bit in its 
mouth, save her small neat-fitting gaiters and sweeping raven 
locks. She wore coat and pantaloons of buckskin, gayly beaded 
and fringed; fur-trimmed vest of tanned antelope skin, and a broad 
brimmed Spanish liat, completed her custume. Throwing herself 
from side to side in the saddle with the daring self-confidence of 







LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


89 



MARTHA CANARY, OR CALAMITY JANB. 


[Among those in the Hills who are pre-eminently original, is On 
lamity Jane, or Martha Canary. Born in the midst of .a wild 
whirlwind of dissolute life—thrown when a mere child upon the 
cold world for sustenance—uneducated, uncared for—with a moth¬ 
er incapacitated to love her—'father dead—-surrounded with sad¬ 
ness—Jane grew up among the rough and tumble of the world, 
and is to-day what delicate society would denominate, a strong- 
minded woman. She is about 22 years old ; has a dark complex¬ 
ion ; high cheek bones . an awarkward walk : receding brow , 
black hair ; rather pleasant eye, but when in passion, emitting a 
greenish glare. Her movements are all free and unstudied, yet in 
no sense unbecoming. Her conversation is animated, her language 
good, and her heart warm and generous. She imitates no one : is 
an original in herself; despises hypocrisy, and is easily melted to 
tears. She is generous, forgiving, kind-hearted, sociable, and yet 
when aroused, has all the daring and courage of the lion or of the 
devil himself. She has been long in the Hills ; has been a scout 
in the army ; dressed in soldier’s clothes ; traveled all over : scal¬ 
ed the mountains ; rode horseback : fought Indians ; and when 
dressed in her own garments she looks comely : when equipped as 
a man she has all the characteristics of the sterner sex, with her 
pistols, bowie knives, and other weapons of death. 









I 


40 DRAMA OF 

4 

a California buchario, in full career, she spurred her horse on up 
the gulch, over ditches and through reservoirs and mud-holes, at 
each leap of the fractious animal giving as good imitation of a 
Souix war-whoop as a feminine voice is capable of. 

“Calamity Jane,” is a character in the mountains, but she has 
redeeming qualities. If she must be “a woman of the world,’ 
she would at least 'save independence of character. She sought 
not the sympathy of kindred associations, but .preferred to stand 
alone, in brave defiance of a frowning world. Donning male attire 
in the mining regions of Nevada, where no legal restraints were 
imposed upon such freaks of iniquitious eccentricity, she “took 
to the road,” and has ever since been one of a hunting party, then 
participating in a mining stampede; again attached to and moving 
with a freight train, and it is said, she has even rendered good 
service as a scout, in an Indian campaign. She has had experi¬ 
ence as a stage driver, and can draw the reins over six horses as 
skillfully as a veteran Jehu, and handles a revolver with the dex¬ 
terity and fires it as accurately as a Texas ranger. She is still in 
early womanhood, and her rough career has not altogether 
“ Swept away tlie lines where beauty lingers.” 

[The scenes in the Drama where Calamity appears, are, in every 
essential particular, true, and are presented, as they occurred under 
the observation of the author.] 


SCENE V. ACT II. 


(A crowd is gathered about a building, inside of which are bright 
lights. The Professor says:) 

“Well, gentlemen ! what's up to-night?” 

“Only a woman stands off' the men— that is, beats them in the 
game of cards.” 

“Well, 1 think I will go in .” 

(Side wings open, showing a woman at a card table, neatly 
dressed, and a crowd of men about her. She throws off the cards 
briskly, when an old Miner advances a challenge. In a minute 
men buy chips which are piled up on the table. The game goes 
on, when in comes a girl, around which a number of men gather, 
greeting her cordially and asking her to drink. She thanks all but 
declines. The strange man again makes his appearance, this time 
seemingly taking great interest in every thing about him, and 
especially in the young girl.) 

“Nellie ! give us a song?—Boys ! listen !”* (Nellie smiles and 
remarks:) 





LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


41 


“My voice is not in trim to-night, but I am always ready to grati¬ 
fy my friends, especially those who have been so kind and good to 
me, as these, (The crowd give way— the gamblers suspend their 
games, and Nellie sings— 

“ Friends 4>f M y Youth !” 

All take a drink, Nellie still declining, when the rough looking 
man steps forward and says:) 

“Madam, your song has touched a tender cord in my heart, and 
f ask, as an especial favor, that you partake with me, at least, a 
small glass of wine.** 

(Nellie looks at the man a moment, and then says, in quite 
an animated tone:) 

“ I will drink with you, sir !” 

(And the crowd of men applaud the act, while the two, the 
delicate woman and the man, stand at the bar together and drink 
oft* the wine, at the conclusion of which he shakes hands with her, 
and exclaims, as though not noticed:) 

“ And this is Life in the Hills”. 

(The gambling is resumed—persons come and go—Nellie mingles 
in the crowd, when another song is called for and sung—and then 
pleasently and coquettishly she turns about and with a smile says,) 

“Well, I must go—good night.” 

(And dancing lightly along, she leaves the room. One drink 
and then another at the bar—the crowd thin out, and nobody is left 
but the woman and a dozen men, about the table. When all is 
silent, two or three pistol shots are heard in the street. The crowd 
all run out and the curtain falls, or scene shifts.) 


SCENE VI. ACT II. 

(In the night. Dark. A man is found upon the ground, bleed¬ 
ing. Is taken up, carried into the gambling saloon, and over him 
bends the female gambler of the Hills. He calls for his wife, his 
children. She soothes him. He dies. Tableau—woman bend¬ 
ing over the dead body; all the miners looking on. Sad music. 
Curtain falls slowly. 


SCENE VII. ACT 11. 

(Professor’s office. Inside, rock thrown up all around. Mor¬ 
tar, pan, &c., &c. Professor gazing with a glass on a piece of 
F 


✓ 




42 


DRAMA OF 


rock, when in rushes an old miner, tattered and torn, under his 
arm a pan, exclaiming— 

“I*ve struck it big ! do you see it? ” 

“ See what ? ” 

“ Why, the colors. There they aye, don’t you see them ? " 

“ What do you mean by colors ? ” 

“ Why, gold ! 1 rather guess you are a Tender Foot : a little 

green. ” 

“ I only see two or three little bright specs, and do you call 
these colors ? ’ ’ 

“Of course 1 do. That’s a good prospect." 

‘ ‘ A what ? ’ * 

“ A prospect ! " 

“Now, excuse me, but really 1 would like to know what you 
call a prospect.’’ 

“Well, old man ! look here. You see that pile of dirt, don't 
you ? ’’ 

“ Yes ! ’’ 

“Well, now, 1 take this pan and fill it with that dirt. Now I 
wash it thus, (showing him.) being careful not to slop the gold 
over, and now, you see the gold being the heaviest, sinks, to the 
bottom of the pan, and here’s a prospect. See it ? ’’ 

“ Y r es; and then these small pieces of gold you call a prospect ? ” 
“ Yes, I do, and a good one. That will pay big.” 

“ What, then, do you do ? ” 

“ You see the gold is washed down on to the bed of the streams, 
and as a matter of course we can’t get it out until the water is 
drawn off, so we commence digging ditches, and when completed, 
turn the water into these ditches, and then go to bed rock ! ” 

“ And what do you call bed rock ? and how deep do you usually 
"have to go ? ” 

“ Well, old chap ! you are as ignorant as a weasel! You seem 
toliave considerable ‘sand in your craw,’ and you are pretty well 
* heeled,’ but you never will make a miner.” 

“Well, never mind that; I am asking for information.” 

“You see that dirt on top, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Now, that gravel may run two, ten, or twenty feet deep— 
down we go until we strike a hard bottom, (usually slate,) and 
that is bed rock, and there is where we find most of the gold.” 

“ Then, what do you do ? ” 

“ Sometimes we put the dirt into our sluice boxes, which are 
placed upon an inclined plain,—just wait a minute and I will 
show you.”) (He goes off the stage and brings on his boxes. 
During his absence the Professor says:) 

“ These miners are queer fellows, but, after all, they are kind- 
hearted and good.” 




LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


4 :' 


“ Now, you see, 1 throw the pay dirt into these boxes, let on 
t he water, and the gravel is carried off by the current, and the 
gold lodges on the riffles in the bottom of the boxes, and it is then 
saved.” 

“ What are riffles ? “ 

“Little cleets nailed crosswise on the bottoms of the sluice 
boxes, to catch the gold ? ” 

“Just so, I understand." 

“ Then we sometimes use the rocker." 

“What do you mean ? You have no family ? " 

“No ! ” 


“No baby ? ” 

“No ! ” 

“ Then why the rocker ? ” 

“To rock out the gold ! Just wait a bit and 1 will, show you." 
Brings in his rocker and explains. 

“ See ! here is a board across it, filled with holes, and an apron 
oil an inclined plain to catch the small particles that might other¬ 
wise escape. Now I throw the dirt into the rocker, pour in the 
water; the dirt is washed off; the gold is caught below." 

“ Well, I must confess I have learned something new. It is 
the best uses to which 1 ever heard a rocker put, and withal your 
explanations have been lucid as well as interesting. flow much 
to the pan do you think your pay dirt will yield? ’' 

“ About 25 cents to the pan.” 

“ How much per day, would that be to the man ? " 

“ With a full head of water, about $25 per day, to the man." 

“ That's verv g*ood.” 

“ You bet; and the fellow who pokes his nose into my claim, 
f will jump him." 

“ Suppose a man should commence work on one end of your 
claim, what would you do ? ” 

“I would ‘ stand him off,' then it. he ‘kicked,' I would ‘jump 
him,’ that’s all.” 

“ Then you mean, that at first you would try to drive him away, 
and if he found fault, shoot him.” 

“ That’s it exactly. Good day, Professor. The boys tell me 
they have made a new discovery, and 1 must be off." 

(Old miner picks up his pan, the Professor says—“good day,” 
and the miner goes off the stage. The Professor soliloquizes; 

“ Well, well! I’m pestered to death. Every man I meet thinks 
he has an abundance of gold in his rock, when, in reality, he has 
none. I think I shall close my doors and get a little rest." 

(Turns around, when in comes a man with a dilapidated cap, 
coat part blue and part made of gunny sacks ; pantaloons patched 
with different kinds of cloth ; greasy, dirty-looking fellow, who 


44 


DRAMA OF 


approaches the Professor, and in an exceeding pompous manner, 
says 

“Professor! they tell me you know something about rocks: 
is that so ? ” 

“Yes ; I sometimes tell what rocks contain." 

“Well, sir, I give it as my most decided opinion, that that rock 
is very rich,” and he hands the rock to the Professor with great 
pomposity 

Soldier.—“I burned that rock ; burned it sir ; and see the yel¬ 
low nuggets ! Eureka ! 1 tramp no more over the dusty road—I 
tie down to pleasant dreams.” 

(The Professor looks at him a moment, scanning him from 
head to foot, and asks :) 

“ What is the freight from Cheyenne to Custer V 

(Soldier folds his arms, and gazing upon the Professor with 
piercing eyes, coolly inquires: 

“ What do you take me to he, sir ?“ 

“A mule-driver! a freighter 1 you are a capital specimen of the 
genus homo.” 

“Sir; in all the perambulating, labyrinthian toils of mv checker¬ 
ed life, I never had that cognomen attached to my otherwise 
respectable name. 1 resent the insult, sir !" 

“Well, my friend, I meant no insult. Your dress indicated 
your profesion, and if 1 am mistaken, I would like to ask—what do 
you do for a living?" 

“Do! I tramp! I watch! Live on horse and mule meat! Go 
naked ! endure untold privations. Convert myself from a man to 
a dog ! Fight Indians ! Do ? I am one of the right arms of the 
American Government!—Pm a soldier in Gen. Crook’s army 
“Yes, sir ; six months without clothing : scarcely any thing to eat, 
and for nine days living on horse and mule meat to prevent starva¬ 
tion. To-day I have no clothes ; no money ; no blanket to cover 
me from the cold, and even you take me to be a mule driver !” 

“ Beg pardon, my friend. You asked me about this rock. I am 
sorry to disappoint you in your expectations, but, these glittering- 
specs you see, are not nuggets of gold, but mica, worthless, good- 
for nothing.” 

“ Just my luck ! Good day, Professor. I can’t stand this sor¬ 
row ; I must have a drink. 

( And the soldier goes off the stage quickly, leaving the Professor 
gazing on the vacant spot where he once stood. While thus 
gazing, the Curtain falls.) 

SCENE VIII. ACT II. 

(Interior of Log Cabin. Frying pans, tin pails and other domes¬ 
tic utensils lying around loose. Greasy clothing hanging on the 
wall. Fire in a large fire place. Three or four miners sitting 









































































































































46 


DRAMA OF 


Mud moving around ; all smoking pipes.—One Miner kneading bread ; 
hands awfully dirty. Another man pounding rock ; another look¬ 
ing at rock through a glass. One Miner says : 

“Jim! I hoped to be bamboozled out of my next spree, if 1 
haven’t “struck it big !" dust look at this flour gold !" 

2d Miner.—“ I’ll be darned if you haven't struck it big ! That's 


a splendid prospect!” 

Jim.—“ Well, boys, you are all in, and if she pans out well. 
I'll be smashed if you ain’t ‘ heeled.’ ” 

(The man kneading the bread, with hands all flour, rushes up, 
and seizes the rock ; looks at it a minute, then exclaims—“free 
gold !’’ All look. All are satisfied, and a general jubilee takes 
place ; the cook tumbles the flour on to the ground ; a bottle is 
brought out, each drink and get mellow, but not drunk. One 
miner saj~s : 

“ I'll be dog-on if my old dad and mam don't get a little of this 


yellow stuff.’’ 

“And you bet my wife shall have new dresses, and the gals shall 
be set out in blue ribbons.’’ 

“And my little chick, by thunder, shan’t wait for me much 
longer. 1 have been putting her off' on account of my poverty, 
but I’ll be blowed if that ain’t busted—" 

“ Whoop her up, boys, let's have a dance," and the whole com¬ 
pany frolic around the room several times, when a knock is heard 
at the door. All the company cry—“ come in." One, however, 
opens the door, and in walks a somewhat tall man, very much 
emaciated with mountain fever. As he slowly steps to a stool 
given him by one of the company, he is followed by the strange- 
tnan, who peers into each face, and stands silently one side. 

An old Miner.—“ Well, stranger, you seem sick; what's the. 
matter ? Mountain Fever, eh ? ’’ (The sick man simply nods, yes.) 
The strange man says : 

“ Boys, I hear you have struck it big, and God knows 1 do not 
envy you, but this poor man I found lying in yonder cabin—all 
alone, his partner having gone for grub, and he has lain there and 
suffered ; and when I met him he wanted me to help him over 
here, and I know you will not let him want for any thing, for he 
has struggled hard, lost all, has a family, and is very sick.’’ 


“ He shall not want here ; not if we know ourselves. No man 
suffers in this gulch, when Pat Casey is about." 

An old miner goes to him and says : “ Have some ham ? ’’ (He 
simply shakes his head—“no.’’ “ Have some pork and beans? ’’ 

Shakes his head, “no.” “Have a drink of 
by a shake of the head. 

“Well, boys ! let’s make him some tea.” 

(The tea is made. * Sick man only sips a mouthful or two, and 
murmers, “ thank you.’’ A bed is prepared : he is laid on it, all 


whisky?" “No," 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


47 


the miners trying to he careful in tucking up the bed clothes, 
smoothing them down, and otherwise showing endearing marks 
of kindness. Strange man sits at the bed side. All is still. While 
thus sitting, a woman’s voice is heard, when in comes Calamity 
Jane. On entering, she exclaims in a loud tone—not looking to¬ 
wards the bed ; ) 

“Well, boys, 1'was going to the Ranche; and thought I would 
drop in and say—* How d'ye do? ' " Casts her eyes towards the 
bed and starts back, uttering in a subdued voice—“ My God ! 
what’s this ! " Strange man has his finger lifted as though she 
must keep still. She draws near the bed : looks sadly and kindly 
upon the man, and then walks towards the front of the stage, 
where a miner meets her and asks her— 

“ Jane, do you know that man ? ” 

“My God! Aes. That man is George Fullerton; a noble- 
hearted fellow, who came to the Hills in search of wealth. Me 
has a wife and one child at home, and how I came to know him 
was ; when he first entered the Hills, he spoke kindly to me and 
gave me some money when I was in distress, and Calamity Jane, 
whatever may be her faults, never goes back on a friend. After 
his kindness to me, 1 learned his history from a man who came 
from the same place.” 

“ Well, Jane, will you stay and help take care of him ? ” 

“Of course I will,” and off goes her bonnet and down goes 
her shawl, and Jane draws near to the bed. The mysterious man 
walks out, followed by most of the miners, leaving Jane alone 
with the sick man. Jane says : 

“ George, do you know me ? ” 

(He simply answers by a nod, “ Yes.”) 

“ Do you feel any better ? ” 

(Shakes his head, “No.” Raises up in the bed, looks wildly 
about, and then tremblingly and slowly, yet distinctly says:)' 

“Oh ! my wife ! my dear wife !—my child ! Oh ! my God ! must 
I die and not see my dear ones at home ? ” 

“ Calamity bends over him, wipes his forehead, gives him some 
water. He again rises in the bed, and pointing upward, says :) 

“ She comes to meet me ! Oh ! my darling child ! gone before ! 
See ! See ! ” (And he sits up in the bed and points upward a mo¬ 
ment, then falls back. There is a pause. Turning, he whispers : 

“ Calamity, you have been a good girl to me.” (Calamity bursts 
into tears and sobs.) 

“ I know I can’t live. Take one little lock of my hair ; send it 
to my wife, and may God bless your kind and wayward heart.” 

(Calamit} r cuts off' the hair, and then sobs violently. In comes 
one and another of the miners, until four or five are about the 
bed, when turning on his side to them, he says :— 

“ Well, boys, life’s fitful fever is nearly over ; I’m going home. 


t 


DRAMA OF 










✓ 




* 




$ 




* 













































































LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


49 


(pointing upward.) I've toiled, I’ve struggled ; all’s gone ! How 
kind you have been. And see ! she comes again ! my darling 
child. See! See! See!” He drops back dead ! Calamity stands 
at his head, weeping. Miners back of him. Sad music commences, 
when the scene parts, displaying George’s wife, with uplifted, 
clasped hands, gazing upward, while an angel child is seen de¬ 
sending just over the bed of the dead miner. Curtain falls. 


SCENE IX. ACT II. 

(Room where the Professor is reading. In rushes a tall Irish¬ 
man, with a hat full of holes, dirty face, torn coat, and in a ter¬ 
ribly excited manner, exclaims ; ) 

“Be golly, Professor, get your coat and be off! The whole 
country is on fire. Holy Mother Mercy, how they have struck 
it ! come along ! 

(Tom grabs the Professor by the coat collar and draws him out 
of the room. The Professor breaks away from him and cries : ) 

“ What in the name of Heaven is the matter, Tom ? ” 

“Oh ! but they have struck it big out on the Battle Creek ! 
$20, $30, $40, and by golly, $50 to the man per day.” 

“ But—Tom—I was never on a stampede in my life ; besides, 1 
learn the country is very rough, and then—the news may prove 
false.” 

“ False, did you say ? And hasn’t the Mayor of the city and the 
Recorder and the Judge gone ? And, do you be after thinking we 
are not as cute as they ? ” 

(The Professor smiles and asks : ) 

“ How shall we go ? ” 

“ In two horses and a wagon, Bob and the dogs, with all the il- 
egant luxuries of the season.” 

“ A r ou mean in a wagon and two horses.” 

“ Yis, of course. I mean jist what I say.” 

“ Well, Tom ! that won’t do. The road, I learn, is very rough! 
horses can’t get over it with a wagon. Suppose we go on foot. ” 

“Just be afther doing as you plase, but come along.” 

“Well, then, get ready.” 

(Both leave.) Side scene changes and in comes Tom, Bob, Phil, 
the Professor and the dog. On coming on to the stage, Tom says : 

“Be jabers, now this is a hard trip ! ” 

Professor.—“This is my first stampede, boys ; it is a rough one, 
but to me it is full of beauty and thought. Did you see that 
diamond-shaped rock weighing hundreds of tons, balancing upon 
a small point ? That, to me, was grand 1 Did you see that great 



50 


DRAMA OF 


uplift of slate, resembling a cliurch ? That, to me, was also 
giand! Why, the corridors, the. windows, the spire were all 
there, as natural as life ! Do you know, Tom, 1 listened, for all 
it seemed to me it wanted to make it a living institution, was the 
music of the organ and the tread of the people. 

Tom.—“But, boys, it's getting late, and just be afther coming 
along.” 

(All leave the stage, when side scene shifts and in come the 
the stampeders, Phil and Tom ahead, with guns. Again they ap¬ 
pear upon the stage, pushing along rapidly, each burdened with 
his baggage, crossing the stage two or three times. We push 
forward, clambering over rocks, ascending precipitous hills, cross¬ 
ing dangerous streams, descending deep declivities, where we had 
to hold on to the wagon to prevent it from tumbling on to the 
backs of the horses. We pass through narrow gorges, on each 
side of which great bodies of slate rise six and seven hundred feet 
high. Tired and weary, w T e come to camp. This should be a wild 
place, just as wild as the imagination can picture. A camp tire is 
built. Tom stands around with his hands in his pockets ; Bob 
cooks ; Phil attends to the coffee ; Professor lies down. When 
the supper is prepared, each one dips into the pan, takes his bread: 
also, cup of coffee, when, all of a sudden a noise is heard in the 
bushes. Each man drops his victuals, seizes his gun, and steals 
away from the fire ; Phil lies down on his stomach, pointing his 
gun in the direction of the noise ; Tom is back of him with his 
gun leveled ; Bob is behind a tree, wdiile the Professor is between 
Bob and Tom—all pointing their guns. . After two or three min¬ 
utes’ suspense, Phil and the Professor crawl out and reconnoitre, 
but find—nothing.) 

“ Be jabers, boys, I was awful cold out there ; I was just shiv¬ 
ering all the while. And did you see the Professor ? His gun was 
never a bit loaded, and his cartridges were off by the fire, but, as 
the Indians didn’t know it, divil a bit was I going to tell them. 
If those blarsted Indians had a come, the hair of the Professor 
would have stood right up on the top of his head.” 

(All laugh ; draw near the fire, constantly looking about, clutch¬ 
ing guns and bringing them to a level. Tom is really frightened, 
but lie declares he is not; only he shivers so like thunder. Bob is 
very active—Phil is unconcerned, believes in fate—if the Indians 
are going to kill, they will kill whether asleep or awake. The 
Professor don't like the situation of affairs ; is forcibly struck 
with the idea that he has been a stupid fool. The company- hurry 
through their supper, draw away from the fire, spread their 
blankets, and with their guns in their hands, lie ^down to—sleep ! 
—perhaps! ) 

Tom.—“Prof., will you be afther going to sleep? 

“No sleep for me, Toni.” 


* 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 



DAMN THE INDIANS? I*M GOING TO SLEEP ! 





52 


DRAMA OF 


(The Professor rises up and leans on his elbow very often, and 
looks around. Tom does the same. Phil lies still : so does Bob. 
Sitting upright, the Professor calls : 

“ Phil ! Phil! did you hear that ? " 

“ Yes.’* 

“ What did it sound like ? " 

“ Like a Mountain Lion." 

“ Are Mountain lions dangerous? " 

“Yes, sometimes; when they are very hungry." 

“ Well, how do you know but this one is very hungry ? " 

“ Well, T guess he is, or he would not come so near our camp." 

(Tom jumps up, and with his gun runs over to the Prof.) 

“ Professor ! that’s rather nice, ain’t it, to know that this wild 
Mountain lion may be very hungry ? Oh ! Lord ! he might eat 
us both up before Phil would wake. I shiver like a stamp mill! 
Oh ! by me soul I wish 1 was out of this scrape." 

(Goes to his blanket, lies down ; so does the Professor.) 

Tom.—“ Professor, did you hear that ? ’’ 

“ Yes." 

“Call Phil." 

“Phil! Phil!" 

(Phil grunts and turns over.) 

“ Phil ! did you hear that noise ? " 

(Phil gets up and rests upon his elbow. He listens; takes his 
gun, brings it to a level. The Professor asks : 

“ WTiat do you think that is ? " 

“It sounds like the crouching tread of an Indian ! Keep cool. 
Don't fire until some object appears. Lay close to the ground." 

(Toni and Bob are both sitting up with their guns pointing in 
the direction of the sound. Phil finally says : 

“Damn the Indians ; I'm going to sleep." And at last all the 
company drop down, and Phil is heard to snore. 

Tom.—“Be gorra, Professor, when a fellow looks out into the 
darkness, it’s kinder exhilarating to have an Indian with his toma¬ 
hawk and scalping knife on one side of ye, and a Mountain lion 
on the other. Be gorra ! I shiver all over ; 1 say, ain't that some¬ 
thing ? " 

(And Tom comes over to the Professor, pointing in a certain di¬ 
rection, frightened terribly. 

MORNING. 

(The Professor is up, stirring the fire. Bob, Tom and Phil 
crawl out, roll up their blankets, and soon breakfast is well under 
way. Professor puts on the coffee pot, Bob fries the ham, Phil 
cuts the bread, Tom stands with his hands in his pockets, occa¬ 
sionally looking out this way and then that.) 


LIFE IN' THE BLACK HILLS. 



TOM—“AIN'T THAT SOMETHING ?” 




54 


DRAMA OF 


Prof.—“Boys, I'm beginning to think with Tom, I wish that 
I had not come. Where are you going? *’ 

Tom and Bob.—“Don't know. Who knows the track?" 

“ Nobody.” 

(If scenery would permit, large masses of slate make their ap¬ 
pearance, and the company wind up a high and steep mountain. 
Country terribly broken, huge rocks, trees and ravines are seen on 
every side. Road simply dreadful. The company have been in the 
woods all the while, and finally emerge out into a canyon, on one 
side of which are high uplifts covered with trees ; on the other 
side bald mountains, with nothing on them. We are supposed to 
be going down this canyon, the grass of which has been burnt 
over, and every thing has a desolate appearance. We are now on 
dangerous* ground. Here is where the Indians used to hold their 
carnivals over the slaughtered Buffalo, and here is where the In¬ 
dian trail crosses to Red Cloud agency. The Professor and Phil 
are ahead, with their guns. Tom and Bob are behind.) 

Tom.-—“ By the Holy Moses, there are Indians ! ” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ Don't yon see them ? " 

Phil.—“Oh, nonsense ; that's nothing but stumps of trees." 

(Tom comes up to Phil and the Professor and looks about on all 
sides of him, being careful to get in between the two as they 
walk on together.) 

Phil. — “ Hurrah ! here we are.” 

(All halt and go to a precipice and looking down 500 feet, see 
a beautiful valley, in the midst of which runs a silver stream of 
water. On either side of the stream a tent or two are seen, and a 
few people, looking like small specks, moving about. The compa¬ 
ny hurry down, descending steep hills, and arrive in the valley 
below. 


SCENE SHIFTS—NIGHT—CAMP FIRE. 

(Gone to bed. Presently a snow storm sets in. Morning dawns 
with the snow storm still raging. The men all crawl out. Bob 
starts a fire ; the Professor brings wood, Phil cuts it ; Tom stands 
with liis hands in his pockets, muttering, 

“ ft's devilish cold ! I am just shivering to death.” 

Prof.—“Come, hoys, let's he off'. The snow will soon be very 
heavy ; the track will be covered up ; we shan't be able to climb 
that hill, and if we get lost in this storm, we must starve to death, 
for we have but one day's provisions.” 

Tom.—Arrah, now ; by me soul, and this you call a stampede— 
start for somewhere—go no where, see nothing, and get back in 
a snow storm. The divil a bit do I like it.” 

Prof.—“Now, Tom, I hope you have learned a lesson. By 


>\ 


<4 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 





1t 


kersmokerman, cowin NisiscHiN !*’ (White man chief not good. 


I 









56 


DRAMA OF 


« 


jour excitable Irish nature, 1 was induced to come on this jour¬ 
ney. We have accomplished nothing ; know but little more than 
we did before we came, and here we are—periling our lives in 
chasing, what? a bubble ! ” 

“ By me soul, Professor, you draw tears to my eyes. \ give up 
the ghost and pray for the Holy Virgin Mary to carry us safely 
through. Upon me honor I feel a little homesick.” 

(All start out briskly, the snow coining down very fast, and the 
curtain falls.) 


END OF ACT II. 















« 


% 


LIFE IN THE BLACK IJILLS. * 


57 




SCENE I. ACT III. 

(If possible, a long street, filled with men, women, dogs, 
horses, teams, music, and every excitement known in a mining 
camp. A man appears upon the stage, and looking around, solil¬ 
oquizes : 

u And this is Deadwood ! so well known to the Eastern world. 
Here flit the shadows and realities of human life.. Here is wealth 
—here is pleasure ! Here in the wild whirlwind of excitement, hu¬ 
man hopes are buried ! Here fortunes are made. Here is the low¬ 
est and the highest strata in human existence ; and yet society is 
not bad. Each man is his own keeper, but when temptation en¬ 
ters, common sense flies out ; the brain totters and crime follows. 
Deadwood ! a child grown to manhood within the space of child¬ 
hood's years ; a giant in experience, yet so young and tender; 
Deadwood ! how many memories cluster about thy name ! Dead- 
wood ! down deep in the human heart thou art cursed by some ; 
the fortunate few sing paeans in thy praise. Deadwood ! with the 
energy of Hercules and the heart of Apollo, thou art but the 
condensed elements of human life. But, by the way, I intended 
to go to Tom Miler's Belle Union Theatre this evening, where 
life in the. Hills, is not only portrayed on the stage, but acted in 
reality, in the pit. Just the time.” 

(Takes out his watch, looks at it, and while leaving, curtain 
falls.) 


SCENE II. ACT III. 


(A band of music is heard, apparently, in the street. Stage ar^ 
ranged for Theatre. All the company take part. Songs, dances^ 
&c. lasting about half an hour. There must be no vulgarity.— 
Real, high-toned wit only, is admissible. At the conclusion of the 
performance, a man near the stage rises and flings an axe at Jene, 
one of the singers, it striking between him and a lady performer, 
at his side. The women scream and run to the back of the Stage. 
Jene rises instantly, and fires his pistol three times, and while the 
man is climbing on to the stage, he fires again, and the man falls ; 

H 



58 


DRAMA OF 


is taken off. The Manager coollv asks—“ wliat means this ?" when 
Jene as coolly replies—"jealousy !" The dead man is carried on 
the stage, all following, when the Curtain falls. 


AUNT SALLY. 

“ Aunt Sally is a large negro woman, almost as broad as she is long, now 
living in Crook City. She went out in Custer’s first expedition, and was 
with him when he entered the Hills. She is a walking encyclopedia of mat¬ 
ters and facts connected with this country, and presents a verv animated ap¬ 
pearance when she rolls up her great white eyes, shows her beautiful teeth, 
and exclaims with earnestness and animation : ‘ Pse de fust white woman as 
ever entered the Hills.’ Of course it would be impolite in the presence of a 
lady to deny the soft impeachment, so I simply accepted the statement as in 
every sense true. Aunt ^ally is by no means a fool. She knew Custer, 
Crooks, and other army officers, and was with them in Indian fights, acting 
as cook, and the only' woman in the whole comman l who had the courage to 
accompany the troops in search of that renegade old c .ief—Sitting Bull. 
While she is full of kindness and good humor, she is by no means unmind¬ 
ful of the power of wealth, and has contrived to accumulate a nice property 
out of her hard earnings. We shall be able to present, in a future edition of 
this work, a more elaborate history of Aunt Sally’s life, which is full of ro¬ 
mance and interest, but just, now we leave her sitting by the stove, engaged 
in knitting, ever and anon murmuring, ‘ I’se de fust white woman as ever 
entered the Hills.’ ” 


SCENE III. ACT III. 

(A large room, as large as can be had, brilliantly lighted with 
chandeliers. Music in the back part. Bar beautifully decorated. 
Men coming and going, and drinking. Tables with Faro—21 and 
other games. Prominent is Keno, and a man is calling off* the 
numbers. Conspicuously among the crowd, is the strange man.— 
He mingles with the people ; scans each face, and to night startles 
the whole company by drawing his pistol at a man and exclaiming : 

“ Now, I have you, you villain ! You have ruined my domestic 
happiness, and I will ruin yours!" (He points his pistol at the 
man’s heart; the crowd begin to sway out, when, in rushes a girl, 
who is seen in the back-ground, and placing herself before the man, 
says : 44 shoot!” The strange man looks a moment, and remarks : 

“Perhaps I’m mistaken ! Stranger, I owe you an apology. J 
have mistaken my man ! Come, take a drink.” (Puts up his pis¬ 
tol ; the girl draws away from the man ; he extends his hand ; and 
all three drink at the bar. Scarcely have the drinks been had, 
when in stalks three dreadful desperate looking fellows, armed 
with pistols, knives, &c.—real brigands, who approach the bar and 
call for drinks. The rough man draws away, but these men eye 
him. Presently one approaches him ; the games in the meantime 





LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


59 


all going oil, and says : “Old boy, how is bullion ? which Stage 
did yon come in on ?*’ The strange man speaks confidently to him, 
and the four leave the room. All this time drinking at the bar, 
smoking, playing, &c. continue, when side scene shifts, and there ap¬ 
pears a hurdy-gurdy dance. Music ; man calling off; girls and men 
dance ; playing, drinking, dancing continue, making a ga} T scene, 
the gayest that can possibly be made upon the stage, for this scene 
is intended to be the most exciting in the Play, so far as gayety is 
concerned. In comes a good-natured fellow, who asks: “Boys, 
have you heard the news ? The stage has again been robbed, 
every thing taken from the passengers and $75,000 in bullion ! I 
was on board, and lost all my money.” 

“Would you recognize the robbers?” asks one of the com- 
pany. 

“ Yes, sir, I would. F thought I saw one in the city to-night.” 

(Men gather about him, forming a group, when a beautiful 
young girl enters and walks around amid the crowd ; she is recog¬ 
nized by a good many of the men. One exclaims : 

“ Nellie, give us a dance ! ” 

“Nellie coquettishly begs off, but the men insist. The dance 
in the back part of the room ceases, gamblers stop their games, 
when Nellie dances. After the dance, the men call for a song. 
Nellie plays off, but finally sings, when the crowd applaud. Some 
get hold of her, and ask her to drink, but she declines. She takes 
her place at a gambling table fronting the audience, when a great, 
awkward miner, with black hands, smutty face, dilapidated hat 
and ragged coat, buys some chips, and enters upon the game. 
Nellie smiles sweetly—looks sweetly. The awkward man in look¬ 
ing at her in great admiration, fumbles his cards so clumsily that 
she sees the game and wins, and smiles. He buys again. Is finally 
dead broke, but leans over the table and looks a thousand loves at 
Nellie. In the meantime the dance in the back part of the room 
ceases. Men go. The audience thin out, when all of a sudden 
there is a cry of “ murder, murder,” proceeding from a female 
voice, and in rushes a girl, hair all dishevelled, clothes torn, fol¬ 
lowed by a half drunken brute. The girl runs to Nellie and 

cr i es? _“ Nellie, save me ! ” Nellie clasps the girl in her left arm, 

draws a pistol from her pocket with her right, and presents it at 
the brute’s head. The man pauses, the gamblers look on ; Nellie 
holds the girl, and the curtain falls. 


60 


DRAMA OF 




NELLIE FORD. 

Nellie, in Central, is one of the most artless and bewitching women in the 
Hills, and she cannot, help it. God made a beautiful face and splendid form 
in her person, and no female attracts so much notice as Nellie. Of course she 
is a gambler, and that here is not derogatory to one’s character. In the ordin¬ 
ary proprieties of every day life, you see nothing to find fault with, but when 
seated at the gambling table, surrounded with rough miners, Nellie looks her 
best and her worst—best by comparison—worse by her company—not that 
her companions are bad, but the place, the scene, the game, is not where one 
expects to see a beautiful woman. But, then, this is a free country, and I 
believe in woman’s rights, and yet if I dared to whisper in Nellie’s ear it 
would be,—stop ! take your friend whom I know is good to you, and reach up 
high on to the plane of life ! for you can dignify any position. Nellie is only 
18. Has a very interesting face, a sparkling eye, a charming way with her; 
her movements are graceful, yet she loves the cards. 

The likeness we give above, from a photograph, does not flatter the origin¬ 
al, but it is the best and the only one we could get of this charming little 
woman. The part she assumes in the play, is in the main drawn from life, 
and as such, will aid the reader in forming an intelligent opinion of her real 
character. 









LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


61 


SCENE IV. ACT III. 

Street scene. Dark. The rattling of a stage coach is heard 
in the distance. It draws nearer and nearer, and when close to tlie 
stage, four masked men cry, “ halt !” Just before entering in 
view of the audience, the leader says—“ Hold up your hands ! Dri¬ 
ver, get down off that box.” Driver dismounts. The four rob¬ 
bers have their pistols pointed at the passengers and at the driver, 
when they come in full view. There are six passengers, and each 
man holds up his hands while the robbers go through their pock¬ 
ets, watches, &c., &c., and then two robbers are left to guard the 
passengers, while two more are fumbling for the Treasury box. 
The leader says : 

“Now, gentlemen, you may go, but if one of you srjueals, or 
makes a movement towards defense, he is a dead man. We do not 
seek your lives. The world has treated us harshly ; it owes us a 
living, and we are bound to have it—go.” 

(Among those present, is recognized as the leader, the 
strange, mysterious man, who comes to the front sufficiently to be 
seen by the audience. Passengers enter the coach, driver mounts 
the box, robbers hold their pistols pointed, the driver says, “get 
up,” and as the stage leaves, the curtain falls.) 


SCENE V. ACT III. 

(Parlor, with a young girl sitting at a table. As the curtain 
rises, she gets up, paces the stage on'ce or twice, and then solilo¬ 
quizes : 

Kitty Arnold.—“Oh! my God! and this is life! and su.ch a 
life ! Tossed about on the wild waves of excitement, I find myself 
here, an outcast, away down in the scale of existence, a mere 
chip, floating out on to the boundless ocean of time, washed hith¬ 
er and thither by the waves that dash upon the shore. Aye ! once 
it was not so. Away back, in the past, a dear mother caressed 
me. Mother ! how that word brings up a thousand memories ! 
Mother ! dear mother ! God bless the name ! How she watched 
over me in babyhood ! how tenderly she guarded my footsteps in 
girlhood ! and yet, disregarding all the love of that saintly being, 
! plunged into a life of dissipation, and here I am, the mere wreck 
of what I once was. Love ! woman's weakness—love. How nat¬ 
ural for the heart of woman to twine itself around the gigantic 
oak ! How closely it clings to it for protection ; and yet the storms 



DRAMA OF 





“we've got you at last/’ 


Nothing aroused the indignation of the miners to a greater degree, during 
the past season, than the action of the mail robbers on the routes to and from 
the Hills Their feelings upon this subject were more intense than even 
an attack from Indians, simply because many of them were deprived of those 
little episodes from home, called—letters, while others, when on their home¬ 
ward trip with bags of yellow nuggets and dreams of bright days of joy and 
happiness, were robbed of all they had accumulated in the mines for years, 
i he engraving represents an out-of-the-way place, where three of these gent¬ 
ry were surprised by an indignant mob. In the confusion two escaped, one 
was secured. These men are not usually rough-rooking customers, but above 
ordinary in looks and in intelligence. It is a well known fact, to parties ful¬ 
ly posted, that of the gang who robbed the money car on the IT. P. lioad, six 
of them made their rendezvous in the Hills, and one hailed from St. Paul, 
Minnesota. They are usually of all sizes and ages; from 22 to 35 years, and 
an investigation into their histories shows that they were educated in the 
schools of yellow-covered literature. Of course their careers are short. The 
young man who contemplates a move in that direction, should pause—stop ! 
think ! bis detection is sure. 










































































































LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


HJ 


come—the wind beats among its noble branches, and down it 
goes, carrying with it the ivy clinging to its sides ! How little the 
world knows how I long for that better life ; and yet, to me, it 
may never come !- 

Hark! I hear the horrible words— 44 a man shot!" 1 will go 
into the street—perhaps some poor fellow may need my sympathy. 
[ will try to merit even a smile from the angels." 

(She puts on her things and hurries off the stage. The scene 
changes, showing a man lying upon the pavement, and men pass¬ 
ing and repassing, who simply glance at the body. After several 
have passed, in comes Nellie. She pauses a moment, kneels down 
by the side of the dying man, pulls out a delicate white pocket 
handkerchief, wipes the blood from his lips and asks : 44 Have you 
no mother ? No home ? Can't you send some word to the dear ones 
left behind?” He raises his head, tries to speak; falls back ! 
Nellie says, 44 ah ! poor man ! he is dead ! " And as she and oth¬ 
ers gaze upon the scene, the curtain falls. 


SCENE VI. ACT 111. 


(A saloon where men are drinking and gambling. Wild Bill 
conies in, takes a drink with two or three friends, and creates quite 
an excitement by his presence. He is dressed as Wild Bill was in 
life. Seats himself at a table, when in comes Calamity Jane, who, 
striking Bill on the back, says : 44 Here is one of my best and 
dearest friends." Wild Bill gets up, shakes her by the hand, 
saying : “How are you, my old gal—take a drink?" Both drink, 
when he sits down to a table and commences playing. Jane says: 
“Good bye, Bill," and leaves the room. Jack McCall soon after 
enters, puts a pistol to Wild Bill's head and fires. Wild Bill falls 
over, dead ! McCall backs out of the room, and as he goes, points 
his pistol at those inside, who draw their weapons and fire upon 
him. In comes Calamity Jane, who exclaims: “Who shot Wild 
Bill? Pushes aside the crowd, who gaze upon her with astonish¬ 
ment. Takes the head of Wild Bill in her lap and moans : 44 Oh ! 
my God ! my best, my greatest friend is gone ! Bill! speak to me ! 
Bill! open your eyes ! Bill! you can't be dead ! When the cold 
world kicked me, it was you who helped me. When the heart was 
breaking, it was you who calmed it. Oh ! my God ! my God !“ and 
Jane falls to the floor in a swoon. None touch her, but Wild 
Bill’s body is picked up, placed upon a bench, when those present 
step back, gaze upon the scene (Calamity being still upon the floor,) 
and the curtain falls. 




64 


DRAMA OF 


WILD BILL, OR JOHN B. HICKOX. 

Wild Bill'was one of the most rioted characters that ever entered the Hills, 
not that he had ever done anything particularly brilliant here, but he cime 
with a reputation of having killed many men. Jack McCall, his murderer, 
no doubt thought he would make as great a name in destroying Bill’s life as 
Bill had himself, and so, without provocation, he walked into the saloon 
where Bill was sitting, and shot him dead. Wild Bill’s forte was killing his 
man first. He is said to have been a kind hearted person, true to his friends, 
yet ambitious of that one idea—notoriety as a ruffian. In the sandy grave¬ 
yard on a mountainous slope in Ueadwood, lies Wild Bill’s body. He was 
buried near the stump of a tree, and on this stump was written his epitaph, 
Subsequently Charles Utter, or Colorado Charlie, erected a pine board monu¬ 
ment to his memory, on which was painied an account of his tragic death. 


SCENE VII. ACT III. 

(Street scene. Post-office. Men coming- and going ; the strange , 
mysterious man in the crowd, when he is recognized b} T a pas¬ 
senger, who exclaims: “Here is a mail robber !‘ ; Men draw 
their pistols ; the mysterious man also draws and runs. He is pur¬ 
sued over the stage several times, firing as he runs, but is finally 
caught by the Sheriff, who, flinging his arms about him, holds 
him fast. The crowd find he is severely injured, and the sheriff, 
with the assistance of one or two, convey him to jail, when the 
scene shifts. 

(Court Room. Judge on the Bench. Lawyers and People. 
Complaint that the prisoner at the bar is guilty of robbing the 
stage. 

Judge.—“ What have you to say—guilty or not guilty l ’’ 

Before he answers, a man goes to the Judge, speaks a few words 
to him, when the Judge says : 

“ The Court orders the sheriff to produce one of the boots of 
the prisoner.” The boot is produced, is examined by the Judge 
and others, and is a very small one. The Judge turns and re¬ 
marks : 

“Suspicions are now conclusive, by the production of this boot, 
that you belie your sex, and are not what you appear to be—that 
is, you are a woman ! Do you plead guilty to this charge ? ’’ 

“ May it please your Honor, I do ; and if permitted, would 
like to make a few remarks : 

“I am a woman ! I mean no wrong. I did not rob the stage, 
but was with the parties who did. Drawn into their cob-web of 
villainy, I could not break away from them without losing my 
life, and may it please your Honor, every resolution I made, was 



LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS 




l 




































































































































































































































































































“l AM A WOMAN ! ? * 

A court, scene In the Black Hills now, and a court scene one year ago, are 
two different things. The cut represents the early days of the Hills ; to-day 
the court scene in Deadwood, is as respectable and as intelligent as can be seen 
in any Eastern or Western city. The prisoner at the bar, as must be apparent 
to the reader, is in disguise. The Judge has asked the question—“ am you a 
woman ?” To which she replies; “yes, I am a woman !” Mark the conster¬ 
nation on the face of the Sheriff, who is so much interested in the matter, 
that he has forgo f ten to remove liis hat, as well as the Deputy, who is point¬ 
ing out to the Judge some particular points in the history of the prisoner.— 
The spectators are no less astonished than the officers of the law, and altogeth¬ 
er the scene is pict.uresqpe, ludicrous, amusing and tragic. Is it true? Yes, 
so far as being arrested in men’s clothes, tried, and pleading guilty to her sex, 
and also being released by the Judge, and as tliis is all I claim in my Drama , 
it is simply an illustration of Lights and Shades in human nature. 




































































LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


67 


broken. I plead guilty to the last, but not to the first charge; 
and if I may be permitted to skip the town this time, you may be 
assured, your Honor, l will never enter it again.” 

Judge—“ Madam, you are in a very singular predicament ; 
charged with robbing the stage, and violating all social and civil 
law in appearing in the character of a male. Under ordinary cir¬ 
cumstances the law would deal harshly with you, but [ take the 
responsibility to set you at liberty.” 

“ Judge ! I thank you for y our leniency.” 

“Sheriff, release the prisoner.” 

Woman walks out—others follow. Curtain falls. 


SCENE VII. ACT ill. 

(Hotel, or other large room. Capitalists moving about. Some 
gray-headed, some bald, some with canes, some with gold chains. 
Old miners come in, and about a dozen are showing capitalists 
rocks, and almost every one is talking at the same time. A nicely 
dressed man appears and is introduced, and in a very agreeable 
manner he tells them what rock carries gold ; what is the best 
rock, &c., expatiating largely upon the value of claims. 

Capitalist.—“ What do you think of that rock ? ” 

Nice Gentleman.—“ I think that is very rich. (Winks to the 
miner.) This is purely a gold rock. That is silver, and this is 
copper.” 

Another Capitalist.—“ And what is your opinion of this speci¬ 
men ? * ’ 

“Well, sir, that is no doubt a smelting ore—carries Galena ! 

Old Miner.—“I panned out 37 cents from a pound of that 
rock ! ’ * 

“ Is it possible ! Let me see ; that is $740 to the ton.” 

Nice Man.—“Yes, that is one of the richest and finest mines in 
the Hills. Why, just think of it—$740 to the ton ! 30 tons will 
go through a twenty stamp mill per day ; that is $22,200, or 
$155,400 per week, or $1,864,800 per year ! Deduct the fraction 
of $864,000 for expenses, and you have $1,000,000 profits per 
year! ” 

Enormous ! where is this mine located ? ” 

“ Up Hidden Treasure Gulch.” 

“Well, I’ll go and see it.” (Two or three capitalists, miner 
and nice young man disappear. Another old Miner is seen hand¬ 
ing rock to a capitalist.) 

Capitalist.—“ Can you see any free gold in this rock ? ” 



68 


DRAMA OF 



r 

t 



■“l BIN SO MAD AS I EVER WAS.’ 










LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


00 


* ISO, sir ; L have worked hard on this vein ; have tested it in 
my humble way, and think it will go about $20 to the ton. 1 
would like to have you look at it, sir.’* 

Can't do it, sir ; \ want rock that will go up into thousands. v ‘ 
(The poor miner draws away disappointed.) 

German—addressed to a capitalist.—“ What for you tink, eh ?' ' 
(and pokes the rock under the nose of a gray-headed man, who 
dodges back as if he were shot.) 

“ Dot be elegant good rock, eh ? “ 

(The capitalist backs away otf to the wall, while the German 
still puts the rock under his nose.) 

kt l looks at him one, two, tree tousand times. I’se knows 
him. He he one elegant good rock. T sends him to my Cath- 
arina ! ” 

“ If you will give me time to breathe, 1 will look at your rock, 
but it strikes me 3*011 are a little familiar." 

“Oh! I have a family, one, two, tree, four shildren. 1 sell 
him one rock to you by jimminy—I make my vrow happy. Just 
for you take the rock.” 

(Capitalist takes the rock : looks at it a moment, while the Ger¬ 
man stands looking on in a very awkward manner. 

” What do you want for your claim? How much money ? ” 

“ How much you give me. eh? " 

“Yes.” 


$ 100,000 ! 

“ Oh ! I can't think of talking to you. 1 couldn’t afford to in¬ 
vest over $1500—perhaps not more than $1,000. $1500 ought to 

buy the best mine in the Hills.” 

German.—“ What for you say, eh ? ” (Approaches the capital¬ 
ist in a threatening manner ; capitalist half frightened to death : 
backs out ; German follows up.) 

“ What for you say, eh? You say my rock be no good? By 
jimminy, you make me one poor man ! 1 get so mad as 1 ever 

was." (Puts his fist under the nose of the capitalist, when an 
old miner approaches and says : 

Hans, see here ; that man don't want to buy your claim, and 
don't bother him any more.” 

“ But I be so mad as I ever was ; I charge him $100,000. He 
insult me ; he 110 give me but $ 1000 . 1 no stand him ; I commit 

suicide on him. By jimminy ! what for big men come to this 
country just for to make me so mad ! ” (The German leaves the 
stage, exclaiming, “ By jimminy I'm so mad as lever was ! ” 

Irishman. Arrah know, me honey, but that rock is just lousey 
with gould ! Look at it. By me soul, it it is putty rock, and just 
be afther seeing the little eyes of the gould peeping out.” 

(Capitalist takes the specimen, examines it, while the Irishman 
is exclaiming : 




t 


70 


DRAMA OF 






LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


n 


<4 Butiful rock ! Illegant rock ! ” ' 

Capitalist. “ How much does this rock go ? ” 

“ Go, did ye say ? All ! me boy, hut it goes when I carry it.” 

” Yes, I understand that, but how much to the ton does it 
yield ? ” 

(Aside.) 44 Ah ! be golly, the mon is ignorant. By the powers, 
he thinks gould grows like praties.) 

“ VY eel, old mon, I never planted him, and how the divil do I 
know what he yields? ” 

sJ 

(The capitalist hands back the rock disgusted. The Irishman 
simply says, 44 weel! ” An old miner steps up and remarks : 

44 Pat, the man wants to know how much gold you can get out 
of your rock. ” 

44 Now, be jabers, that's just what I want to know." 

44 What do you want for your claim ? ” 

44 .list any thing I can git. Isn't this mon a gintlenian ? then 
by me faith, he ought to know more than Pat ; and if Pat don’t 
know what's in the rock, then surely the gintlenian ought to 
know." 

Capitalist. 44 Well, well, 1 don’t want your old rock ! I don't 
want any thing to do with you.” 

(Irishman, aside.) 44 Weel, be me powers, Pm a good will to 
put a head on you, old chap.'* 

(Sides up to him, when in comes a seedy looking fellow, who 
attracts his attention. This man should be seedy, but not tat¬ 
tered or torn : should have a rusty hat on. As he enters Pat 
looks at him sharply a moment, and then walking up to him, 
says : % 

44 Do you see that, now ? ” 

(Just then enters the Professor, who is introduced and shakes 
hands. The seedy man looks at the rock a moment, and then in 
a disgusted manner, replies : 

44 1 don’t want to see any more of this stuff," and is walking 
off the stage, when the Professor hails him : 

“Halloa ! stranger, where are you going?" 

“ Home." 

44 Been long in the Hills ? ” 

44 Yes " 

44 Got’rich?” 

44 No. It is all a fraud. There is no gold there. 1 dug at least 
forty holes, almost a foot deep, and didn't get a color ; over 500 men 
have died with the smallpox, and two hundred more are down 
with it. People are starving, sir, absolutely starving, sir ! There 
is no work, no money, no grub, no nothing.” 

44 Well, you give rather a gloomy picture of the Hills." 

44 Gloomy! gloomy! it’s no name for it. You can cut the 
gloom with a knife. Horrible ! sir, horrible ! simply horrible ! ” 


DRAMA OF 



* 























LIFE [N THE BLACK HILLS. 


73 


Well, it seems to me that those people who advise others to go 
there, ought to be arrested." 

“ \ on are right, sir ; right, sir. I would like to feed such 
chaps to Mountain Lions ; give them to the Indians. In fact I 
would like to chaw them up myself. (Patronizingly.) By the 
way, will you just loan me $5? I will see that you are paid.” 
"Certainly.” Professor gives him $5. 

“ Thank you, sir ; thank you. Your kindness will never be 
forgotten. Good day, sir.” 

(He starts to leave, when the Professor says : ) 

“ Wait a minute ; didn't you go out in the same stage with me 
last summer ? and didn’t you have a patent scoop ? a Tender Foot ?* * 
(The stianger looks sheepish, scratches his head, and murmurs ; 
“ I believe I did.” 

“ Good day, sir,” and the man disappears. This conversation 
with the Tender Foot causes all the monied men to get frightened, 
and one fellow says : 

“Well, I have been here now three weeks ; have climbed the 
mountains ; gone into shafts ; walked, at least, one hundred 
miles ; tried rock, and upon my soul I am more confused this 
moment than when I first came. I would like to buy a mine, 
but, am afraid I may be deceived ; perhaps the rock has been 
“salted.” I must confess I am confused, and I think now I will 
store my mill and wait. • 

Capitalist. “ Ah ! Professor, you are just the man we want to 
see. We are a little muddled on this question of buying mines, 
and we need your services. Now here is a rock from a vein which 
a very gentlemanly young man assures me is enormously rich ; 
what do vou think of it ? ” 

(Hands him the rock.) 

“ Well, sir, this is good for nothing. It is simply iron pyrities : 
there is no gold in it I know the rock, and know the vein." 
(Two or three voices.) “ Good for nothing ! ” 

“ Good for nothing, gentlemen ! ” 

“ What do you think of this? It was given to me by a rather 
modest man, but he says he can’t see any gold in it.” 

“ This is good rock ; will run $20 to the ton ! It is reliable, and 
I consider it an excellent vein.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” 

“Well, Professor, here is one more rock, handed to me by a 
German ; what do you think of this ? ” 

“ This is not bad rock ; will go $16 to the ton ! ” 

“Will that pay ? ” 

“ A very excellent profit can be realized at $16 per ton. You 
can extract and mill the ore for $7 per ton, leaving you a net 
profit of $11 per ton. 30 tons per day will go through a mill: 
profit $330 every 24 hours ; or $2,310 per week.” 


74 


DRAMA OF 



“GOOD FOR nothing!” 


'i liat is the expression of the Professor, as ho stands among the capitalists 
and lifts the scales from their eyes which have been drawn over them by the 
“ nice young man !” who, in cahoot with the “ old forty niner,” seeks to sell 
them a very rich claim. The gentleman in the chair is perfectly astounded, 
while his companions grin with evident mortification. The earnest expres¬ 
sion of the speaker clearly shows that he means what he says, and his auditors 
are not backward in their evident confidence in his statement. JS T o man in 
the Hills is more constantly beseiglied, than he who has the knowledge of 
rocks and mines, and can draw from them the metal. He is in demand every¬ 
where, for, while there are practical miners, who, by a crude process, are able 
to get “colors” out of their rock, there are very few who can either make a 
laboratory or commercial test. In my experience on the north shore of Lake 
Superior, at Vermillion, and at the Black Hills, I have found that the only safe 
way to arrive at correct results, is, to commercially test every rock brought to 
you, and by this means very valuable discoveries have been and can be made.— 
Theoretical Professors are useless in any mining camp. It is not only he who 
understands chemistry, but the practical knowledge of rocks, which makes 
him useful not only to men of means wdio desire to invest, but to the miner 
himself, who, owning a vein, has to rely upon the Professor to know what 
is in it. 


































































































































































































































LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


75 


“ Well, Professor, we must confess our ignorance. When we 
entered the Hills, we thought we knew considerable about mines 
and mining, but we know a great deal less now than a month ago. 
We shall call at your office and engage you to pick out such mines 
as in your judgment, are really good, and shall abide your decis¬ 
ion. Good day, sir. 5 ' 

44 Good day, gentlemen.” 

( All the parties shake hands, leave the stage. Curtain falls. 


SCENE IX. ACT III. 

* 

(A Parlor. A nicely dressed lady and gentleman are sitting 
near a table. On the curtain rising, the gentleman gets up and 
pace* the stage.) 

Gentleman. 44 And so you will give me no decision to-night as 
to our marriage.” 

“ No, sir ; I can make no decision as to marriage until my 
mission is fulfilled.” 

44 You .do not doubt my love * ” 

44 No; but there are weightier matters upon my mind than 
love.” 

44 Well, while my heart may prompt me to press the suit, my 
judgment tells me to abide my time.” 

44 Aye, sir ; if you knew my history,'you would forego pressing 
your suit. Every heart has its own burden, and I have mine.” 

“Why, madam! what mean these words? No matter what 
your history, I love you ; but say the word, and we are married.” 
(Approaches her.) 

44 No ! no ! not now ; I cannot penetrate the future—but—per¬ 
haps—perhaps—good night.” Waves him away. He takes her 
by the hand, kisses one of them, says 44 good night,” and leaves. 

Lady soliloquizing : 

44 Romance pales to twilight under the glaring rays of Reality. 
We are but puppets—moved and driven about by circumstances, 
and could the inner vaults of our existence be exposed, we should 
be, to the public gaze, but walking books of fiction, eclipsing the 
highest drawn pictures of Ideality. The rosy hues of childhood 
glide into the maturity of youth. Manhood ! womanhood ! open 
up grand panoramas ! Hopes and plans dance upon sun¬ 
beams ! The far future gleams with brightness! But, ah! 
who knows how deceitful, but one who has travelled life’s 
checkered path. Born in luxury—nurtured in luxury—mar¬ 
ried in luxury—nothing was wanting to make my joy com- 



DRAMA OF 


Ttf 



‘‘ ENORMOUSLY RICH !” 

This is the expression of the Capitalist who has been roped in by the nice 
young man, and who, no doubt, has “salted” his mine to catch gudgeons, 
that is, Eastern men, who, wise in their own conceit, only awake from their 
wild notions, to find themselves ruined. The Hills would not be a mining 
camp if they did not contain some of iliese characters. Men who know noth¬ 
ing of mining, in their own estimation know the most; and my experience 
is, they are the ones who tie up to nice young men, and ignore the old practi¬ 
cal miner, who could tell them more in one hour about mines and minerals, 
than they could learn in years of gas and theories. The modest man with a 

f ood mine, is discarded, while the brazen-faced fraud is courted and petted. 

know several mines in the Hills now worth from $75,Oty) to $100,000, (and 
have been sold forthese figures,) two-tliirds of either one of which I could 
have purchased for $2,000 and $3,000, but the man of money knew it all, and 
of course he is out just a handsome fortune ! i have no sympathy for such 
men. The perfection of human knowledge is, when a man knows positively 
what he knows, and positively knows what he don’t know. Such a man can 
learn just a little more, and that little more brings him wealth, while the man 
chuck full,” can’t get any more into him, and dies, minus a boganza, which 
be might have secured—in the Black Hills. 
























































































































































































LIFE IN THE BLACK HIKES. 


77 

plete, but- the reflection of my own being, and like a grand 
gleam of love, it came, and I was happy. My boy grew in 
grace and beauty. His young heart twined its tendrils about my 
i>vvn, but, ah ! when the light of the father’s eyes went out, how 
much grander grew the son. And, thus together, we traveled, 
hand in hand, until a dark pall fell upon our bird-cage home—my 
ooy was gone ! kidnapped ! and woe and bitterness have marked my 
later years. The dens of large cities were scanned ; rewards were 
offered—he came not. In desperation f made my way to these 
Hills—have mingled in all shades of society—have affected the 
man in the blessed hope that [ might once again gaze upon that 
dear image. But how my heart has bled with agony as odium has 
rested upon me in my rough career—my association with robbers 
m\ mimjm g in the great crowd of life ; hoping, praying, that 
some face might peer in upon my own, and cry—“ mother !” But, 
it comes not. Why this fate ? He was innocent; so was I. He, 
the legitimate heir of a rich estate in England, 1 am made wretch¬ 
ed, miserable, because by the cruel greed of man, he is seized, car¬ 
ried from my sight—perhaps— dead ! ’ ’ (She drops upon her knees ; 
buries her head in her hands and cries)—“ My boy ! my boy ! Oh l 
my boy !” and the Curtain f falls. 


THAT MYSTERIOUS MAN ! 

[The strange characters assumed by this woman, might lead the 
reader to think that it was an ideal picture—a creation of the 
brain, wdiereas, the original is now living in the Hills. She is a 
tall, finely formed female, very graceful in her motions, with an 
exceeding pleasant face, a beautiful mouth, a broad forehead, a 
sweet smile always playing upon her features, except, perhaps, 
when reminded of her great trouble, and then her lips become 
Compressed, her eyes assume an unusual lustre, and back of the 
delicate woman there is a stern, masterly character. In her pen¬ 
sive moods there is a subdued melancholy resting upon her face, 
and her heart yearns for some one who never comes. Her hus¬ 
band, it is supposed, was killed, because he stood in the way of a 
set of greedy heirs to an estate in England ; she, herself, having 
a. record of the family descendants, was seized and left for dead, 
and finally her boy, a beautiful and talented son, (the legitimate 
heir,) was kidnapped in New York city, leaving her desolate and 
sad. In hopes of tracking him, (she fears he is dead,) or those 
who were instrumental in his abduction, she assumed the 
characters I have given her, and after scanning the 
dens of our great cities, she borrowd money on her 
homestead in Brooklvn, and devoted her time and resources 

\ 




78 


DRAMA OF 


to further search for her long- lost boy. Those who have 
read of the efforts of Mr. Ross to recover his son Charlie, 
can appreciate the feelings of this poor, lone mother, and ex¬ 
claim, as she does in the play, “ Romance pales to twilight un¬ 
der the glaring rays of reality.” 


SCENE X. ACT III. 

(Street Scene. Two men are heard quarreling before they come 
upon the stage. They enter, both armed with pistols.) 

1 st Man.—“The lot is mine ; T bought it; paid for it, and by 
the eternal God, I will keep it 

2 d Man.—“ You won’t keep it. 1 located the lot, built upon it, 
and no dirty dog shall take it from me.” 

“All right. You just jump in.” 

“Bill! I don’t want any fuss with you, but either you or ! 
have got to back out, and 1 will be damned if it will be me.*' 

“ That’s all right ; wdien I go away from here, it will be a dead 
man.” 

» “ 1 am bound to have this lot, no matter what the consequen¬ 

ces. ’ ’ 

“ You told Nickle Jim, that I was a thief!” 

“ So I did ; and any man who will jump another person’s lot, is 
a thief-— an infernal damned thief.” 

“ Your a dirty liar!” (Makes a movement for his pistol.) 

(Second man draws his pistol—fires—and the first man puts his 
hand upon his breast where he is shot. Second man, after firing, 
runs. First man gets up and pursues him. Men run off the stage 
and on it again ; second man falls flat on his face. First man 
gomes up to him and fires a ball into the back of his head ; then 
walks off rather feebly, indicating he has been w ounded. A crowd 
gather ; the man is dead ! Is picked up and carried away. Two 
miners return to the stage, when one says : 

“ And so Bob is dead !” 

“Yes, and George can’t live.” 

(Another miner rushing in, exclaims)— 

“ George is dead !” (All appear astonished.) 

“ And thus two lives have been sacrificed over a paltry, worth¬ 
less lot! ” 

“ Poor Bob !” 

“ Poor George !” 

“ But, that’s life ! What’s the use of growling ; we have all 
got to die, and it matters not how. Come along, boys ; let’s go 
help and take a drink.” 

(The speaker leads—all follow, curtain drops.) 

'» v 



LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


79 


SCENE XI. ACT III 

% 

(A two story white house in the lower part of Deadwood. In¬ 
side a bar, card table, &c. In front of the house in the evening, 
a man muffled and armed, paces up and down, until wearied with 
watching for his victims, he enters. A young woman, with cold 
gray eyes, large Roman nose, and comely figure, greets him: 

“Halloa, Jim! ” 

(It is one of her husbands, and she meets him with the cold for¬ 
mality of an iceberg. He extends his hand. Up stairs is a 
small, front parlor, adjoining which is a bed room. The man has 
come home from a distance to see his wife, whom he loves, hut 
she treats him indifferently.) 

“Well, Kitty, I have come home this time to either live with 
you, as my lawful wife, or—we both die !” 

“ Oh ! Jim ! that would be foolish ! I will give you some money, 
and you will forget this.” 

“Never ! I am your lawful husband ; you are my lawful wife. 
1 will kill your paramours, and then death shall end all our 
troubles.” 

“ Jim ! you are crazy. I am not doing very well, financially, 
but I can get you some money. Take it : go away.” 

“ Kitty ! I love you : we must live together! * * 

“No, Jim; I can’t." 

“ All right. You know my nature. Don't press me. I'm sick." 

(Hattie, Kitty’s friend, enters the room, after Kitty has left.) 

“Mr. Curley, Kitty is afraid of you. She says she cannot live 
with you, but she will furnish you some money, and if you will go 
away, she will send you some more. Please promise me you will 
not harm her.” 

“Kitty ! Kitty ! how I love her. Hattie, I can’t see other men 
enjoying her society, when I, her lawful husband, am pushed 
aside.” 

“ Well, Curley, whatever else you do, don’t harm her.” 

“ Hattie ! I am tired of life. Sick ; wearied ; my brain reels." 

(It is evening. The man Curley has agreed to take some money 
and go away. He is up stairs in the parlor. He calls- to the ne¬ 
gro waiter ; ) 

“Ambrose, go get me some cigarettes, and tell Kitty to come 
up here.” 

(Kitty, with bonnet and fur over-garments, runs up stairs with 
money to give her husband.) 

“Kitty! you don't leave this house to night as you did last 
night. Your my wife and stay here, you shall.” 

“ I won’t.” 

“Then—die!” 


80 


# 


DRAMA OF 



COLORADO CHARLIE, OR CHARLES UTTER 


(The Scout and friend of Wild Bill.) 

[Charles Utter has been a noted scout on the frontier for many 
ears, and possesses all the requisites of a gentleman. He is small 
xti stature, with duck legs, thick-set body, long hair, which falls 
down over his shoulders ; a mustache and goatee, strong features, 
ft mild, pleasant eye, and his head capped by a broad-brimmed hat. 
There is no braggadocio in Utter. He has murdered no “ pard,’ 
but has hunted and killed Indians. Never drinks, but smokes con¬ 
stantly. When out of his particular line of business, he deals 
Twenty-one, and of course has his Jenny with him, who is as 
mild and pleasant a woman as Charlie is a man. Utter is very 
modest, hence newspaper correspondents don't write him up :— 
otherwise he would be, and ought to be, famous among the scouts 
of the plains. Utter at one time owned a large number of cattle, 
but lost, them through the perfidy of a friend. He is even now a 
man of property : very affable in manner ; honorable in dealing : 
temperate ; and is universally respected by the miners in the Hills.} 





LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS 


81 


‘ ‘ GET OUT OF HERE !” 

[The expression of the man’s face in the Engraving, with one 
hand upon the knob of the door, and his clenched fist ready to 
strike, clearly indicate that he “means business.” Nothing in 
the world brings out the pugnatious elements in human nature so 
quickly, as part possessor of a gold mill, and no where in the world 
is this peculiarity more strikingly seen, than in a mining camp ; 
and that which is applicable to a mill, is equally applicable to a 
mineral claim. The nasty, red, muddy, worthless looking rock of 
the best veins, passes into the mill, and the eternal click, clack of 
the machinery is music to the proprietors. Then the quicksilver 
and the gold form the amalgam. Then it is gathered, strained, re¬ 
torted, and out comes a beautiful cone-shaped button, as big as 



# 











































































































82 


DRAMA OP 


your head ; all a golden color ; and it is then passed from the dirty 
surroundings to the counter of the bank, and with the simple 
scratch of a pen, puts to the credit of the partners, $8,000. $10,- 
000, and sometimes $15,000—in only ten days run. This intoxi¬ 
cating sight maddens the selfish heart of one of the partners, and 
he seeks every conceivable technicality to grasp the whole business, 
and leave his comrade out in the cold ; and if the meshes of the 
law fail, he then resorts to brute force. Of course there are ex¬ 
ceptions to this rule, but in a general sense, the statement is cor¬ 
rect. There is hardly a claim in the Hills to-day that is not in lit¬ 
igation, and the universal chorus of the music is—“ Get out of 
here”—or, pistols and coffee for two, and this usually winds up the 
Drama with the death of one, and quite often that of-both. So¬ 
ciety, however, is on the improve, and such scenes will soon be 
known only in history.] 


(Curley draws a pistol—points it at Kitty^, who puts up her 
hand, to avoid the shot. He fires. The ball passes into her heart, 
through her body, out of the window pane, and lodges on the 
other side of the street. Kitty falls ; moans twice. Curley puts 
the same pistol to his own ear—fires, and dies instantly. A po¬ 
liceman soon after enters, and the two, who in life could not 
agree, lay peacefully in death. “Life’s fitful fever o’er, they 
sleep well,” illustrating the lights and shades of—Life in the 
Hills. With the dead bodies lying upon the floor, and six or eight 
persons gazingupon the scene, the curtain falls." 


SCENE XII. ACT III. 

(Stage provided with chairs arranged in a circle. Enters a well 
dressed man, who laughs as he enters, and after he enters. Looks* 
about, rubs his hands deliberately, and soliloquizes :) 

“ Wbat a change ! Dead wood has grown from a solitary cabin, 
in two years, to a bustling city. Gaysville has grown inside of 
one year. Burnt down and rebuilt. Central, inside of six months. 
Golden Gate, Anchor, all inside of one year ! Lead, Galena, and 
Crook, inside of a year ! Whew ! these changes make my head 
dizzy ! Two years ago, Deadwood Gulch had a few straggling mi¬ 
ners. Now the population in this section must reach 15,000. 
Then there were no gold mills ; now there are thirty in and about 
Central—nine at Lead City, and several outside, making not far 
from one thousand stamps, and not less than fifty mills, running 




LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


83 



KITTY LEROY, OR MRS. CURLEY. 

[Kitty Le Roy, who was killed in Deadwood, by her husband, 
December, 1877, and then killed himself, was of small figure, and 
had previously been noted as a jig dancer. She had a large Ro¬ 
man nose, cold gray eyes, a low, cunning forehead, and was inor¬ 
dinately fond of money. 1 saw her often in her “Mint,” which 
was opposite my office, where men congregated to squander their 
wealth, and as Kitty was a good player, like the old grave-digger, 
she “gathered them in !”—that is, their money. Men are, in a 
general sense, fools. A small tress of golden hair, or a bright 
eye, or a soft voice, will precipitate them into the ocean of folly, 
and women of the world, (and some out of the world,) know this 
fact, and play upon the weak strings of men’s hearts; until all i& 
gone, money, character, and then life. Kitty had seen much of 
human nature. Entering upon her wild career at the age of ten, 
she was married three times, and died at twenty-eight. A polite 
German met her. He was doing well with his gold claim ; she 
knew it. Like the spider she spun her delicate web about him 
until he poured into her lap $8,000 in gold, and then, when his 
claim would yield no more, she beatdiim over the head with a bot¬ 
tle, and drove him from her door. One and another she married, 
and then when their money was gone, discarded . them in rapid 
succession. Yet there was something peculiarly magnetic about 
Kitty. Men did love her, and there are men living to-day who 
revere her memory. Well, she’s gone. I saw her only a short 
time since, lying dead by the body of her inanimate husband, 
with whom she would not live, but with whom she was obliged to 
pass quietly to the grave. Kitty left a boy about seven years old, 
in Denver, to whom all her property was given. The body of her¬ 
self and her husband, (who killed her, and then killed himself,) 
lay side by side, and just twelve men and thirteen women attended 
the funeral, showing, that even in Deadwood, the great public 
pay but little regard to those who die with their boots on.. 



DRAMA OF 



niglit and day. Whew ! but don’t things whiz in a mining 
camp! I can’t believe my sense! The amount of gold taken out 
of the Hills, thus far, must reach as high as from $15,000,000 to 
$20,000,000 ! Two years ago, I was a poor, forlorn, almost dis¬ 
heartened pilgrim, pecking away at this rock and then at that, 
but I finally ‘ 4 struck it big!”—made—$50,000—put on soft 
clothes and a stand-up collar, and I must confess I feel ;i little bet¬ 
ter than I did. Ha! lia ! ha ! I've been down to the Play—1 
like it. It is just clean life through ; but didn’t I laugh—ha ! ha ! 
ha ! Capital! But, what's coming here? (Peeps out through the 
scenes.) Upon my soul, it is the actors themselves.” (The actors 
all enter, and take chairs. The Professor occupies the middle seat. 
The old Miner addresing them, says, “ Actors, I believe,” bowing. 



“ ACTORS ! I BELIEVE ?” 


“ Allow me, then, on the part of all the old miners and the 
new, the rich and the poor, the lucky and the unlucky, to return 
you their sincere thanks for your admirable portrayal of—“ Life 
in the Hills,” and, in your future journey, may you each, 
one!and all—“Strike it big ! ” The music commences, a spir¬ 
ited dance follows, at the conclusion of which the entire company 
sing— 

“Home ! Sweet Home ! ” 

(After the singing, a woman in black makes her appearance on 
the stage and in a clear yet plaintive tone, sa} r s *. 
















































LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


"Sir,—excuse me ; but I called to inquire if you knew a man 
by the name of Fullington, George Fullington. I received a letter 
from a dear friend in the Hills, who writes me, that George*. 
Fullerton died of mountain fever, but I have a faint hope that 
this is not my husband, and that lie may vet he alive. If alive, he no 
doubt, has greatly changed, so I would not recognize him : but, 
confounding the name of Fullington with Fullerton, leaves me 
to hope that he is still in existence.** 

(The old Miner gets off to one side of the Stage and looks and lis¬ 
tens. One of the ladies asks 

“Madame !—What kind of a looking man was your husband ?’* 

“Well, when George left home he was a man in the prime of 
life, but hardships, no doubt, make him look now a great, deal 
older.” 

“Why, if alive, has he not written your* 

“ Oh ! 1 cannot tell you that ; but this suspense is killing me.*’ 

(The old Miner draws near to the woman, whose head is bent 
towards the floor, and scanning her very keenly, remarks :)— 

“ You had a child ?** 

“Yes:'* (woman still gazing upon the floor,) “but,—she is 
dead !” 

“ Her name was**—(lifting his finger and answering his own 
question)—“Effie!“ The woman looks up—George opens his 
arms and exclaims—“ Mary !*’ Mary simply says—“ George !*’— 
and falls on his bosom, fainting. There is considerable confusion 
on the stage for a minute or two, when Mary recovers from her 
swoon, looks at her husband a moment, and then throws her arms 
about his neck, sobbing—-“My George! my long, lost George !** 
The company start back in astonishment when Maiy is recognized. 
Tranquility is soon restored, when Mary says ; 

“ George ! do tell me, why did'you not write me ?** 

“Mary ! having taken from my claim $50,000, T buried it, in the 
hope that in a few days I would be on my way home, when, one 
evening I was seized by two stalwart Indians ; gagged, and car¬ 
ried into captivity. No human being can picture the torments 1 
endured, but my life was spared, because, some years ago I be¬ 
friended one of the sons of the Chief. I watched my opportunity 
—made my escape—secured my treasure, and was about to leave 
for home, when, hearing of this Play, I thought I would come and 
see it, and oh ! God ! what a fortunate circumstance. But, why 
are you here ?” 

“ Being determined to satisfy myself whether you were dead or 
alive, 1 left the States—made for the Hills, and this is my first ef¬ 
fort in search of my long, lost treasure.*’ 

“Well, Mary ! this is no time for sadness. Here is my reward 
of years of toil.” (Hands her a bag of gold from every pocket, 
which nearly fills her apron, and while sitting upon the stage 4 
hand in hand, the whole company sing ;) 


DRAMA OF 


‘t 


K6 


4 



“this is no time for sadness !’■ 




» 


< 






















































GOLDEN NUGGETS! 


Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

Sparkling in their quiet bed; 

Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

O’er life's pathway joy will shed. 

See the stalwart miner digging,— 

Bending o’er the rippling stream; 

Hear the dancing water, splashing; 

Watch the golden, glittering gleam 
Of the Nugget, as it smoothly 
Glides in wonder to its bed; 

Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

O’er life’s pathway joy will shed. 

Home is gone and with it pleasure; 

Down the shaft the dclver goes: 

Work to do with no more leisure. 

Life’s hard lot in misery’s woes; 

But, there comes a ray of sunshine, 

See the golden Nuggets gleam— 

Catch the trinkets e’re they vanish: 

Say not this is all a dream— 

For, the little sparkling Miget, 

Glides in wonder to its bed ! 

Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

O’er life's pathway joy will shed. 

Then let us give a loud hurrah! 

Happy voices fill the room; 

With golden Nuggets from afar, 

Comes the lost one out of gloom. 

Home, and wife, and dear ones wed— 

In life’s sweet dream to part no more;— 
The golden Nugget in its bed 

Tells truly that the search is o'er. 
Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

How they glisten ! How they gleam ! 
Golden Nuggets ! Golden Nuggets ! 

Are not bubbles, but all they seem. 



88 


DRAMA OF 


COL. C. A. LOUNSBERRY. 

A sketch of the Hills would hardly be complete without a por¬ 
trait and brief notice of Col. C. A. Lounsberry, editor of the 
Bismarck Tribune, and Postmaster at Bismarck, known in the 
Hills as 



“the beautiful bohemiah.’* 

Col. Lounsberry entered the army in 1861, a boy of eighteen, 
serving eighteen months as an- enlisted man, being several times 
wounded and twice captured. He rapidly rose to the rank of Col¬ 
onel, and was mustered out with his regiment in 1865. Coming 
west he drifted into journalism, where he has made a name for 
himself of which he may well be proud. Occupying a leading ed¬ 
itorial position on the Minneapolis Daily Tribune, when the Nor¬ 
thern Pacific was extended to Bismarck, on the Missouri River, he 
went into that then embryo city, on the first train, with a 
printing office, fully prepared to publish a daily paper when such 
a publication should be justified. And then when Custer*s expe¬ 
dition wms sent to the Black Hills, he equipped and forwarded 


• LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


89 


with it a member of his editorial staff, whom he instructed to mess 
and sleep with the miners accompanying that expedition, and to 
ship back to him, (Lounsberry,) by trusty hands, specimens of 
gold taken out of the stream, if gold should be discovered, and' also 
rock containing gold ; and any and all information that he could 
rely upon, no matter what stories were told in the newspapers re¬ 
specting the auriferous country to which his agent was going.— 
His instructioaswere fully carried out, and the reports, therefore, 
which were sent from Bismarck in relation to the gold discoveries 
in the Hills, in every case proved to be true. Being correspondent 
of the leading Hew York, Chicago, St. Louis and St. Paul papers, 
Col. Lounsberry was able to reach the public ear in a manner 
which proved effective, and it is not too much to say, that the 
opening of the Black Hills country was due more to hi*s efforts, 
than to the work of any other man. Not only that, but the first 
assay of rock from the Black Hills, was made for Col. Lounsberry, 
at'the Smithsonian Institute at Washington, and the first assay 
of rock made in Minnesota, was by Maj. T. M. Newson, from 
rock caused to be brought from the Hills, by Col. Lounsberry.— 
Being rich in Hold and Silver, these assays proved to all who saw 
the specimens and learned the result, that there were “ millions in 
it.” When he saw that good could lie accomplished by doing so, 
he induced Mayor McLean, of Bismarck, to accompany him. and 
together they went to Saint Paul, Milwaukie, Chicago and Wash¬ 
ington, in behalf of the Black Hills, and also interested the Min¬ 
nesota Legislature then in session, which body passed a memorial 
to Congress for the opening of the Hills. Beside all this, they 
interested capitalists who have since put on the Bismarck stage- 
route ; the several Railroad companies, who, on their representa¬ 
tions, placed through tickets upon the market. They then made 
personal appeals to the President and Secretary of War, showing 
them fine specimens of gold from the Spring Creek region, (this 
being before the existence of Dead wood,) and enlisted a large num¬ 
ber of Senators and members of the House in behalf of the Hills. 
Returning, Col. Lounsberry purchased a newspaper out lit, which, 
in April, 1876, he sent to the Hills, and it has always be m a ques¬ 
tion whether his paper, (the Crook City Tribune,) or the Dead- 
wood Pioneer, was the first paper in the Hills. His representative 
was unfortunate in his selection of a location, and the enterprize 
proved a financial failure, but, the work done by the Colonel 
through the means at his command, has told for the Black Hills, 
and the people of that region appreciate his labors and will reward 
his services when an opportunity is presented. It was he who 
first interested the author of this book in the Black Hills, and to¬ 
gether they have tramped all over the gold region, visiting all of 
the principal mines and making the acquaintance of the live men 


:o 


DRAMA OF 


there who are building up a great State where only three years 
ago roamed, in undisputed possession, the savage of the plains. 

Col. Lounsberry is about 35 years old, and the portrait we give, 
is true to life. He is a large man, speaks slowly and in a low tone 
of voice, but becomes enthusiastically animated when deeply in¬ 
terested. He is not outwardly demonstrative, but his quiet man¬ 
ner indicates great reserve force. He is a plain, unostentatious 
man, and very much resembles in two points, a huge locomotive 
—first, he pushes ahead of public sentiment, and second—he draws 
after him a heavy train of conservatives, who generally sit upon the 
nether garment of progress and cry—“ whoa !” But they can’t 
stop the train, for the engineer has steam enough to beat them all, 
and if he don't go to Congress and make his mark, then Bismarck 
will be no where, and Saint Paul a myth. He is yet a young man 
and has before him a long life of usefulness. 


\ 



I 


LIFE IN THE BLACK HILLS. 


91 


The Northern Belt across the Continent. 


The Northern 


Pacific Railroad-Best Route to Black Hills. 


Across the continent in tfye Northern belt, is the inevitable des¬ 
tiny of the American people. And, why not ? The theory that 
it is too far north to raise wheat ; that the soil is too cold and bar¬ 
ren ; that it is too far removed from transportation, is all exploded. 
The bug-a-boo of marshes and swamps, is lost amid thousands of 
acres of waving grain and prolific crops. Marching on in its grand 
triumph, the Northern Pacific starts from an inland sea at Lake 
Superior, cleaves its way five hundred miles over an excellent agri¬ 
cultural region, and dotfs its hat at Bismarck, where rolls the 
peaceful Missouri. Only about one-third of the distauce of its ul¬ 
timate completed journey has been accomplished, but mark its 
track. Here, are Crow Wing, and Brainerd, and Perham, and 
Detroit, and Morehead, and Fargo, and Bismarck, with hundreds 
of smaller towns, and grand farms of thousands of acres under 
cultivation, one of which alone this year produced the amount of 
one hundred and forty seven thousand bushels of wheat, which, 
with millions of other bushels, were garnered into the elevators to 
be shipped back to the sea-board to feed the thousands who are 
crying for bread ! bread !—even bread without butter. The over- 
populated East, with its terrible financial depression, its silent fac¬ 
tories, its marine commerce stagnant, its commercial sky darken¬ 
ed by a dense fog, must live. This is emphatically the age of— 
“ bread and butter.” Where is this to come from ? If ihe demand 
is greater than the supply, flour will reach a fabulous price—star¬ 
vation must follow. If the crops of Europe fail, America must 
come to the rescue, and how is this to be met? [answer, from 
along the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad. Here is the store¬ 
house of the world ! Go, gaze upon that farm of six thousand 
acres ! See the beautiful, dark, mellow soil turned over by fifty 
plows ! Watch the seed as it enters the hungry mouth of mother 
earth. God has smoothed the land over with his hand : not a stump 
mars the view, but man applies artificial means, and ihe little ker¬ 
nels of wheat are covered up in their warm beds, and the sun 
comes, and the dews come, and the rains come, and under a law of 
germination the kernels spring into life, and one vast, grand scene 
of green marks the spot where, years ago, in our ignorance, we 




DRAMA OF 


as 

k 

located marshes, and lizzards, and alkali, and bad lands ! Under 
the-effects of a climate more genial than northern New York,* this 
green field grows into mellow age, it buds, and blooms and bears. 
Like a sea of gold, it waves under the gentle winds of summer. It 
has fulfilled its mission ; and then how the many reapers come 
forth and laugh as they sing, We gather it in ! we gather it in !’ 
Horses and men,-.and machinery save these little golden heads, and 
as they are safely stored away, the world gives a long breath and 
exclaims ; ,k This is money ! this is bread ! this.is life !” 

Away beyond Bismarck, in the valley of the Yellowstone, and 
eVen beyond that a thousand miles, most excellent land awaits the 
forward march of the pioneer. But—he pauses ! he hesitates !— 
why ? He is waiting for the Northern Pacific ! Let this great 
thoroughfare be built half-way across the continent, and in ten 
years it will add $100,000 000 to the wealth of the country ; Min¬ 
nesota will produce 60,000,000 bushels of wheat instead of 40, 
000,000 ; fifty towns will spring up where there are none to-day, 
and the great trade of this vast region, including that from the 
Black Hills, will gravitate to St. Paul and Minneapolis, even still 
on ward* to. Chicago, thence to the seaboard, and thence to all parts 
of the world. And so years will move on, and the Railroad will 
move on, and emigration will move on ; and amid all this excite¬ 
ment, all this struggle, all this rapid developement of a nation's 
resources, all this industry and activity, the Northern Pacific, with 
its thousands of cars, aud hundreds of engines and army of em¬ 
ployees, will continue to add to the wealth of the country by open¬ 
ing up land to settlement, inducing population westward, break¬ 
ing down monopolies, bringing silks and teas from Oriental re¬ 
gions, preventing Indian wars, advancing civilization, and adding 
to the strength and greatness and glory and prosperity of the A- 
meri can Re public. 

The Northern Pacific is, emphatically, the best route to the 
Black Hills. It makes connections at Bismarck with the Stages 
of the W. N. Express and Transportation Company; and parties 
leaving Chicago, take the West Wisconsin Road direct to St Paul; 
thence on the elegant cars of the Northern Pacific : thence on com 
fortable coaches, reach the Hills in three days after leaving Bis 
marek. The U. S. Government have detailed a company of cav¬ 
alry to protect the route, and the Company have two outriders, 
to accompany each coach. The road over the Custer route is good; 
the coaches are good: the accommodations are good ; and parties 
going to the Black Hills, the Big Horn Mountains, or the Yellow¬ 
stone, will find, that of all the routes, the one by the way of the 
Northern Pacific, is by far the best. 


* 










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Hundreus who have read this book, including Ministers of the Gospel, Professors of Col- 
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\. B. Observe, this is not a vulgar, immoral or obscene book, but a strictly medical 
work, designed to warn and instruct 

A PRIVATE MEDICAL PAMPHLET, of :tg pages, on the above diseases, with valua¬ 
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Galenic Institute, 

SAINT PAUL. MINN. 








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A full line of SAFES always in Stock. Vault Doors, Bank Locks, Etc. 

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The only medicine in St. Paul that 
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A positive cure for Salt Rheum, Scrofula, Sypliilie and al private diseases- 
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from some of the best citizens of St. Paul, S. BLACKFORD, General Agent, 
67 Wabashaw Street, St. Paul, Minn. |2|pAs this medicine is extensively 
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POPULAR LECTURES. 


By the author of Life in the Black Hills. 


io Library Associations and Others : 

MA.J. T. M. NEW SON, author of the Drama of Life in the Black Hills, offers his services 
to Libraay Associations and others, for the following Lectures ; 

Have a Purpose in Life : or, Hurry Up ! 

Avoid Evtl in Life ; or, Go Slow'. 

Home ; or, Life and its Phases. 

Personal Rkcullections of Great Men. 

Life in the Black Hills. 

Thrilling Incidents among the Indians. 

Geological Formation of the Black Hills and Scenery. 
Drama—Pen Pictures in a Mining Camp. 

Was received with great tokens of public approbation. An admirable lecture.-St. Paul Pio. 
Was well and eloquently delivered. Received with marked approbation.— St. Paul Press. 
Had a crowded house. The lecture was a wholesome and enjoyable one.— St Paul PHs. 
A large and enthusiastic audience. Gave evidence of excellent thought.— St. Paul P-Pres. 
A large audience. Able and eloquent Great learning and classic research.— Manic. Pnd. 
This Lecture delivered to an Eastern audience, would receive great applause.— Omaha Hep. 
A large audience, greatly interested. Strong hits. A great deal of valuable information. 
The Major’s trip to the Hills has not injured his elocutionary powers.— St. Paul Globe. 

Have seldom listened to a lecture in which profonud philosophy was more harmoniously 
blended with wit and genius. Was received with rounds of applause.— Faribault Hep. 

The subject was admirably conceived and most happily delivered. It occupies no inferi¬ 
or rank. Has the quiet pathos of true eloquence.— Hastings Independent. 

It ranks high as a literary production. He sustained himself in a felicitous and origi¬ 
nal manner, and has within him a forty horse power locomotive.— Stillwater Messenger. 

A Lecture of golden merit. He was superior to any other speaker except the great Gough. 
Held the attention of his audience to the close. Popular and taking.— Minneapolis Trib. 

Most of the time the audience was held in breathless silence. He did not fail to interest 
from the first. Illustrated the Lecture would make the book of the season.— Bismarck Tri. 

His manners were graceful, his delivery clear, and effective, and at times he was really el¬ 
oquent. Most entertaining Lecture ever heard in St. Paul.— H. P. Hall, Editor St Paul Globe 
Maj. Newson is an able Lecturer. Had a large audience. Lecture needs no remodeling to 
make it as complete a pecuniary success as it is in a literary point of view.—-If. Hills Herald. 

It bristled with truthful and vivid pictures of everyday occurrences. A large and notice¬ 
ably appreciative audience. Was well enjoyed by all present.— Black Hills Champion. 

His Drama was the most interesting entertainment offered this season. Has the 
happy faculty of amusing as well as interesing. A graphic scene of frontier life.— B Hills Pio. 

T. M. NEWSON, St. Paul, Minn. 


Terms—Reasonable. 






Dodge & Larpenteur, 


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Statements, Envelopes, Visiting Cards, 
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And all kinds of legal 
Printing. 


Spscial Attention Given to Orders by Mail. 


All of our material, (both presses and type,) are entirely new, 
and of the very best manufacture, thus giving us facilities for do¬ 
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and in our new and commodious quarters, corner Third and Waba- 
shaw Streets, we are prepared to turn out all kinds of work, in 
any qu antity, on short notice. 

DODGE & LARPENTEUR, 


Cor. 3d and Wabashaw Sts. 


ST. PAUL, MINN 















I 





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